Inge Haupt
Chewing CudArchive for soulless
Waiting for
Now she is seated in her tower of silver and steel
Waiting.
Behind her, walls of glass erupt into the frigid firmament
Then stop, by some unnamed force.
By some hand, some decision, they go no further.
The black leather cocoons her, throne-like.
The smell is comforting
Like something real, alive
In this aseptic world of sterile cleaners, bleachers, filtered air.
A tread on the threshold.
He shuffles over into her domain.
The vast room looms before him;
The domed ceiling bleeding into ebony walls
Peppered with chrome artefacts.
Legacies of greater ages,
He thinks.
Discarded remnants of the dead,
She knows.
“A samurai sword,
that must have a story?”
Her glittering eyes a warning.
What do you want?
“So you’re in recruitment?”
Pause
“What does that mean?”
“I sell souls” ha ha.
The man blanched.
“I do not believe
In souls. The concept is worthless to me.
However, I see that you have the ‘God’ gene.”
“And you were forbidden?”
Her skin flushes, draws strength from the crimson corona,
“My parents were poor,
A modern-day nephalim.”
Later she turns to witness her world.
A sea of monoliths pierce the air;
Giants, staking their claim on the nothingness.
Below, dwarves rush through the evening deluge,
Wearied shoulders, drooping heads,
The giants demanding their sacrifice.
Hearts beating out each second,
Blood flowing for the evolution of empires.
And above as the west draws Ra and Apollo in,
The ether is washed with blood reds and pinks
And the purples push shadows into corners
Where Emim and Awwim sleep.
She is surrounded by day-dreams of fear and desolation
For he did not come.
She draws the sword and paces the room.
And as the night deepens in the crystal cold emptiness
A star falls,
Crisp, bright, transitory,
Disappearing into the abyss.
Searching for Meaning
What do you do when you have no soul?
How do you create order from chaos and pain?
Do you flock to a cotoneaster in bloom
To find meaning amongst the masses?
A myriad of bright orange wings lured by the scent of salvation.
Here is sweet nourishment,
Here a fall of thrumming joy,
Butterflies and bees besieging the blossoms.
This is meaning in a single day:
A day of work, of industrious activity.
The sun catches a wing
And flings it gaily to another branch.
Another sweet chalice of nectar to imbibe,
But soulless remain,
Alone.
For after the dancing cascade in the air,
After the passion, the consummate joy;
After the night falls and white blossoms close,
A lone butterfly with ruby-red wings
That no longer beat with such blissful trust,
Must drift closer and closer
To the ages old truth,
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
The rich scent of loam, once more to its breast
Gathers the lonely creature,
Devoid of all breath
under wings.
Aging flesh slows and stops and is lost.
And legacies only lie in a memory
Realised in the young,
Who through chaos and pain come
To find meaning amongst the masses.
Hector’s Funeral Pyre
There she stands across the flames
That curl and caper before our faces.
Her eyes are dark, unreadable now,
For I have sown the seeds of shame.
She bade him stay,
I made him go,
To save us from this awful fall
That she calls
Of night after night.
Locked in her ivory tower,
She speaks in riddles that we cannot comprehend.
Oh mad daughter,
Dreaming of fear and desolation,
Would that you could predict our end.
The pyre shifts and throws up sparks of light
Into the crystal, cold night.
But her soulless eyes never leave my face,
Boring my guilt deeper still, she allows no respite.
I beseech her across the blaze:
I had to send him, I had no choice.
Perhaps he is the sacrifice who us will save.
And there he burns, my son, my babe.
But she does not hear my silent plea.
Rather,
Auguries and omens fill her dark-haired beauty.
She reads the skies,
Draws lines in ash and dust,
Searching for meaning, giving no reasons, but
That it all must.
It simply must.
