Out of the carbon vault of night,
the beautiful one has come,
suffused unseen with shades of night,
save for a band of aural light
on shoulders draped in gold.
Awed, necromantic murmurs
of masterworks on massive scale
have filtered down through age and earth
to beckon from a hidden world
her silent, ancient ka.
In restive wonder, she surveys
our modern land of glass and steel.
Unperceived, her kohled eye...
a lengthened, mystic moonlit land,
cool and ashen, slowly shifts
like dark, volcanic shifting sands;
and settles on an edifice
that looms against the graphite sky.
Swift, fleet clouds, luminous
as silver sails on phantom ships,
glide through oceanic skies,
moor in coves of polished glass
and billow softly in the wind.
Envisioning sepulchral gray,
illumed by living firmament
as this one seems ~ she palls on still,
oppressive gloom (the dust and chill
of pyramid, and rock-hewn tomb.)
Divine descendant of the sun,
once blessed of Egyptian rule ~
in exile, now denied esteem
and buried in obscurity.
Embittered, questioning, she lifts
a regal hand, encircled by a
strand of tear-drop diamonds
in startling white against the sky.
Inside the topmost chamber, mute
discordant music strains, unheard,
as cryptic neon hieroglyphs
beckon soft, to those who would,
come dance the ritual dance of ankh...
Decaying shrouds of musty smoke
have mummified the airless room.
A mystic eye, lined neon pink, stares dimly through.
The silent, know-all sphinx gives none a clue
as watchful Horus judges all they do.
Drones, the mourners, cluster round
to share of stored profundity
and suck distilled nectar, sweet
death-surmounting drink of gods,
from plastic cups.
Pale visages, in liquored trance
gape outside, through deadened eyes
across the dark necropolis
and focus, blind, on chill blue-white
effluvium of gaslight glare.
A yellow band of jewelled light
surrounds a lucent black abyss
of night enshadowed lake. Nearby,
a ring of streetlamps stand,
a single strand of tear-drop lights
in diamond-white against the sky.
~ by D.K. Pritchett