Observations of the Unification

Cognizant realities merge.
Spectrums of here and there,
then and now, resonate as one.
The multi-soul melds, the twelve
become one. The return of the universe,
never as retribution, never as a consequence,
never as a lesson, seeks balance through
positive and negative, soon dispels
the negative, turns it away
as a father may his bastard,
as a mother may her daughter,
as an artist may their creation.
In the constant realm of night,
as energies mesh and mold into
thoughts and substance, the
blackened rainbows of the soul,
resolute in full color, cast
a kaleidoscopic truth, radiant
in the heart and resonant in the gut,
like an old friend sits, cards in hand
across the table, straight-faced, illegible.
Accosted by the subtle spikes that tear
the sky, by the chill of intentional fear,
the desperation of the lost, the social layers
constructed and crafted betray the master.
Untamed, uninterpretable, unbreakable,
arrogance blinded the master; unpredictable
a victim of the ego, underestimation a figment
of the imagination. Undetermined. The future
once crystallized in the minds of all man, the
energy procured patiently over centuries,
is undetermined. The rocks have begun to
melt, the volcanic ash plumed to the heavens.
The melding of realities, the meshing
of energies shattered that ancient stone.
Cracked and blistered, erupted, shards
of disillusionment scatter to the ground.
The deepened pit created, the gorge
of unreality and conscious disassociation,
has begun to seal, the unifying souls
clamoring to escape a once self-induced
conclusion. The spirits rise in the air, the flesh
becomes electric, the heart reverberates waves
of love, the constructs given to us break down
and the lucid truth returns. The agreement
and path once chosen unfolds like a map,
and new crystals of truth cast a spectrum
unseen, except to those initiated with the
unity of their truths, and marriage of
their souls.

“Observations of the Unification” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

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La Primera

Todos somos son
La verde y la Azul
El sol unido

“La Primera” is a haiku in Spanish and is written by Michael Aaron  Casares. All rights reserved. It popped up first on Twitter, error and all, because we do love live poetry. 

 

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Transmute the Soul

Diligence based opulence,
discreet name seen in sky,
a flashing jig of light
will paralyze the day.
A shadow smolders
to non-existence,
misunderstanding
the difference between
belief and conviction.
It calls to its kind,
it seeks like energies,
it vibrates the vapid space,
it assumes that you will never
understand and for that is haughty.
Self understanding,
self analyzation,
self deprecation,
self emulation,
self that senses
verse sense of self,
all decisions are
weighed at death,
and justice sleeps not
for one day, as karmic rules
apply to all, in this ocean vast
and small, of the single drops
fill fast its basin, and realize
the liquid of life, the vibration
of love, must remain light
and positive.

“Transmute the Soul” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

Black Orpheus: Midnight Stream

The storms of Jupiter ascend,
burning clouds of Neptune and Saturn.
Their perfect orbs, spherical in spite of
hexagonal surges, whirlpools, and vortices,
dervish silent frenzies. Clouded in the eye,
everlasting fog chokes the pupil sight.
It is a repetitive like scratched vinyl clichés, and
lost lacquer messages, hidden and secret, locked,
undismayed by the greed of light that eats away
the shadows. Rejoice in it, a reverie of rainbow
cast darkness inversed up the smoldering bowl
to a dank reality of wispy Nosferatu and elusive
shadow men. The ghosts poke their curl-cued
heads around the corner until the heart
radiates them away, losers of imperfect love
that only manage to remain lost floating
among the silent spheres, the music lost
to the overwhelming space once subdued.
In streams, the conscience flows, it looks, eyes wide,
mouth agape, tongue crossed, an absurdist pretzel
in old wood, chipped and dry. The crab burns,
the feverish blisters, the filthy hands that heal
the wounds lay testament to fever-pitch nightmares
and lazy-Susan personalities, a revolving door of fodder,
all smiles and bright eyes. The immaculate love
barred from the former dimensions,
the heightened aura of forgiveness,
seeps slowly into the empty reservoirs
constructed by our ancestors,
by the beings so weighted
stones set in mud and seal
like concrete, the vast
gemstones of error.

“Black Orpheus: Midnight Stream” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

 

Ode to the Federal Reserve

T’was 1913, on cold and cumbersome Christmas eve
that the bankers and politicians in shadow held keep.
Monetary laws they passed on that holiday season,
were passed at a time when people were busy holiday pleasing,

and assured notes created by a private source
were to be used as the country’s monetary resource.
These bankers, though, used nothing of value to support their notes,
and debt was created with every printed note.

And debt was owed with every promised note.
There was one other piece, though, this plan would float.
The US owed the bankers, as they charged interest, too,
creating the Income Tax, a practice of usury through and through.

Debt slaves, we pay off the interest to the Fed our country owes
like credit cards paying off credit cards on a debt that eternally flows.

 

“Ode to the Federal Reserve” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.