Insufferably Didactic

She walked to the door, opened it,
greeted the salesman with bible in hand,
invited him in, offered coffee or hot cocoa.

He did not need evidence to believe;
she did not need to believe to have evidence
because it was there hidden in the books of man;
the ones the preachers refuted and called blasphemy.

”Do not believe in the works of man,” he’d been told,
“for their works are nothing compared to the Lord’s.”

What’s there is there before your eyes, even if you don’t
understand, she’d thought.

The mysteries of origin were becoming undone,
science was opening the doors of spirituality,
unmasking the face of god, showing man He
and at the same time Himself.

But the preachers could not have that, could not
turn over those stones, could not find God in the forest
or God in the trees, could not find God inside him or
inside she.

“We are energy,“ she said and meekly bowed her head

and slightly smiled

because she knew that when we were at an end, no matter what
faith we labeled this existential dream, we would be the same,
free from all this constructed dust animated and given names.
The only question was what experience we chose as we walked
our circles down the path and off the trail.


“Insufferably Didactic” is written by Michael Aaron Casares, and was originally published in his book This Reality of Man. All rights reserved.



Light Presence

A prophetic voice inside the crowd
has promised victory with pride aloud,
has brandished hatred in black and blue
and left vessels corrupted with this sickly hue.

The victims of warfare against the mind,
become soldiers of hatred marching haughtily blind.
They succumb to the songs of the deceiving dead,
an echoing repetition in circles said.

Steadfast, the virtue of light adorn the head,
and cast all lost in a sea of red,
and shatter the grip of the singing dead,
and shatter the hold of the lies they spread.

A heightened right, a sovereign call,
disperse the wave against the wall.


“Light Presence” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.


Once Condemned

Tentative speak
group think
safety in numbers
100th monkey challenge
dueling concepts vie
majority silent
minority mob
contention rotting
in the brain
sentient vibration
uncertain dictations
bubbling up in the mind
pressure left to understanding
shadowed in the absurdity
of abstract thought and metaphor
there is no vessel,
just primordial willpower
and the will to find power
to stamp out the beliefs
and strangle the heart
of the enemy, a racist fascist
far less agreeable than traitors
and pedophiles

dis-associative conscience
sociopathy of the eyes
soulless and blank
the empty void is in the smile
the target is in the sight
nothing subjective about it
the objective perspective of a
serial killer zeroing in on its prey
it drops the bomb
it shoots the gun
it throws the knife
it thrashes with a stick
it berates with words
it pierces with the spirit
it doesn’t understand
the concept: love
it’s never known it
never felt it
perhaps hurt
deep down

the light has risen
passed the 45th degree
it burrows deep the length
of every well, it pierces
to the core, exposes shadows
and dark hearts, radiates
the intolerant and hateful
it keeps them from their
goals for the light workers
and deep hearts have
transmuted the days
and migrated the world
to another height altogether,
have changed the nightmare
of persecution, have altered
the agonies of tribulation
and shown them to the sun
have faced them with its
burning light, have warmed
them with its empowering love

the last thing that must be done
is to lock away all transgressions
and forget the hate they held
and favor forgiveness with hindsight
and stories to recite to the memory,
progression’s glory: the hands that heal,
life’s final extension, gleeful exploration,
growth thriving, gold and white,
deeper green and deepest blue,
amethyst, indigo



“Once Condemned” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

A Thousand Years Away

Wisps, thin hues,
these feathers wafting
lines of string.
The spectrum in this photo:
what our eyes can see–
a scattered rainbow
on clouds that stretch
through this vast and
spacious sky.
My mind can only comprehend
the domain I call earth.
Could never see that distant space
where lights and orbs and stars
are born. This organism all the same—
do I shine a thousand years away?


“A Thousand Years Away” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

Tree of Life

Deep in the heart
strains and burns
multiple tragedies
against life.

Casualties of the ego
or death by necessity,
martyrs installed to
move narratives.

The masking task
of distraction,
sacrificing nothing
but the most precious
commodity to man.

Mine deep the wells
of the soul, emerald
gemstones weighed
against deep sapphire,
the golden core is
protected inside.

Ruby red blood
stones the sacred
floors, the spirit turned
and stuck between two

Lament as the devil
acts out and throws tantrums
because his time draws near.
His father hath come
in his blazing white,
orange light.

He mangles the vines
of pride with neon rays
of sunlight and spills
in the dark
where rapists
and pedophiles

He takes away
and locks up
their souls.

He is loved by
those good of

The healing roots
of the Tree of Life.
Residual strength
lent to the masses.
Strong hearts rich
and true, resonant
love to help light



“Tree of Life” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.



This is the last one for the night
for I hope to dream the black on black;
I hope to fill the hapless void with happiness.
The edge of execution keeps my nerves quivering
even as I stand on the ledge. A nightmare is
beneath me: a wave-torn craggy beach, a bottomless
ravine. What is beneath me is not for my eyes.
My eyes shall only look up and forward.

I await the knock at the door.
I await the paranoia to return and leave
and come back again. Fingers like digits on a stopwatch.
There’s no stopping now. I must acknowledge the
flooded lands this October downpour has brought us
and poisoned life from the source. Muddied, the banks
of reverie and release are swept beneath brown waters.
The deep emerald of life carried down the river banks.
There is no end to the flow. There are only ways to
slow it down before the ledge becomes a waterfall.

Instances collapse on themselves.
Creation is boiled and served cold.
The bitter taste of metal lines the lips
even as I purse and lick them from
within. My eyes are sharp and focused.
It’s time to let the dreams come,
I’ve had enough excitement
for one night.


“Dilate” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.


Reconciliation Requiem

Rain at 2 AM.
No one would know
except the third shift,
insomniacs, and night owls.
We are fortunate to get
the downpour
and the cold lock
that settled the heat.
It pushed it away.
The titter tatter, pitter patter
of pebble soft rounds
on the roof and objects.
On the third floor where only god
resides above, the spacious sky
creeps into a void. There is
nothing beyond, the naysayers
will preach. Everything else
is tinfoil hats and conspiracy theories.
But we all know the intangible is tangible.
And the hush of ceased rain serves
as a reminder that only god
resides above,
but our encounters of the third kind
may  not be discounted in any manner.
Only lost in the confusion
of a consolidated solitaire
seeking reconciliation
with the necessity
of confidence.


“Reconciliation Requiem” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.