The Elements
A work in
progress by Karl Haase
Last
updated 1/15/04
The Slave
Lady of Misery,
Where will you go when I banish you to the dark?
What lands will you reign over, what mountains shall you melt, what lakes will you shadow?
I have been your slave for far too long. My soul cries for hope.
Where will you be when I sit alone in the sunny plain that you darkened long ago?
I have given you one lifetime, and I am urged to give a million more.
But a voice calls out from the wilderness.
I am no longer alone.
Soon, one will come and cut the inky chains that have bound us for so long.
Chains wrought of my loss, forged of my guilt, and bolted with my sorrow.
Where will you go when I am free?
Someone is coming to save me.
Their footsteps are yet far off, but they draw near.
Even now they a-light the twin vultures of anger and malice, screeching in the night, with whom I have fought for my flesh.
I will have hope.
You have taken me into the gloom and made me yours.
You have etched my bones with oil.
I have hung in your starkest tree, blown with the sand in your sordid winds, crawled in your slimy pits. I have known darkness.
The time of decision has come, and soon, an axe will fall, and only one shall remain.
Where will you go when I am free?
Speed
I lay face up in the grass, facing the bulging clouds. The grass is screaming for reprieve after the suns day-long lashing. I relax my eyes and dare the clouds. They accept, a little at first, but then faster. Before long I’m being pummeled by water, soaking my body, pulling my clothes, stretching them tight like a shroud. The grass, calm relieved of all grievances. This is the way the apostles must have felt when Jesus baptized them. Those who dutifully huddle together every seventh day in a church don’t know what they are missing.
-?
Church? I sit in the front row. The masses huddled behind me. My mind and body are two; I sleep while my body dutifully responds, my mouth I hear utter “…ave maria…” while those behind me are emerged, swimming in the moment. I am alone in the front row, staring at a cross. Some would say it is a religious experience. I call it a joke.
-?
A true experience is driving a stolen Alfa Romeo through Independence Pass at 3 am. Even at altitude it has 300-something horse crammed and hidden in the small compartment in front of me. At these speeds flying through the small guardrail that ticks by like a metronome on steroids would kill every one of those horses. But I’m quick and nimble, and sew the hairpins, U’s, switches, curves, and leans into a fine work, like an old venetian tailor; and then I reach the top of the pass and sail over the crest, barely brushing the noses of Boy Scouts who wouldn’t believe. This is to touch a God, to be power and existence.
-?
In the capitol, sending the Great Satan back to hell, storming the capital with whatever we had; bottles, bones, rock, bolts, vegetables, and bodies. We moved with one might, the multitude of us knew. We made a sound louder than the helicopters: “Allah! Allah! Allah!” And “Jihad! Jihad! Jihad!” He smiled and the devil left. He was kind to us that day.
-?
Not so with my brother. He went to kill our lost brethren. He was an Immortal. He was revered; they told him he would have many beautiful wives and big house with money when he returned. And when he returned it would be in a big parade, and that he would be raised up as a hero. He did return. He married an anti-tank mine, he came home in a pastry box, no one cared.
-?
I cared when I was in the meadow, so quite and peaceful, with my music... beautiful music…. I fell in love with it as one would with a man or a woman. I fantasized about it, went and saw it every time I could, talked about it, talked to it, dreamed it, lived it, breathed it, ate it. The music said that, “People in cities don’t understand what it means to be in love with the land.” It was right: one day they came with bulldozers, graders, and backhoes. I told them that I loved it and they couldn’t take it. They didn’t listen. I spat and kicked in punched until the men in black came and laughed, sprayed me with pepper, put me in the car and booked me at the station. So much for love.
-?
The sun has returned. My cloths are moist and sticky. The sun has given them a painful warmth. The quenched grass demands my movement. It reaches for the sky, the cycle renewed. The moment is gone, my dreams are gone, lost in the breeze like million dandelion seeds. I have returned to insignificance.
The Desert
The desert is forever.
It always has been and always will be.
It is all that is left after the land is burned and the sea is boiled
The desert and the wind.
They hold my feet and fill my pockets.
Such is all that man craves and all that God gives.
Man’s wish is fulfilled,
God is happy. So it goes.