Pharaonic Ghosts
The sand yet blasts this stone to scoreThe face of Pharaoh down the years,
These desert storms will roar and roar
And blow away dead Pharaoh's tears.
His walls lay so much detritus
Within the wadi and the dunes,
At night a ghostly susurrus
Is heard beneath the sanguine moons.
His great hall buried deep in sands
Thrown by the teeming centuries,
He sometimes shouts his hoarse commands
That echo vaguely on the breeze.
His corridors are merely dust,
Here potshards of a pinkish tint
Lay close to metals thick with rust,
With bits of glass and polished flint.
Here gems of shell and black formed beads
Are buried as the great dunes drift,
Here ghosts still seek to sate his needs
So through these sands they nightly sift.
Yet when the moon is in decline
Out of the sands they shift and rise,
His concubines in one long line,
Come with pale starlight in their eyes.
They weave in one eternal queue,
Each is a sleek and sly young girl,
All wearing jewels of green and blue,
Their bodies opalescent, pearl.
Each seems a princess from the Past
Their hair is long, some black, some gold.
I hear a ghostly trumpet blast,
They fall to dust, back to the mold.
The sand yet blasts this stone to score
The face of Pharaoh down the years,
These desert storms will roar and roar
And blow away dead Pharaoh's tears.
Poetry by Achernar
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Written on 2009-12-24 at 22:26
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Rob Graber |
Rob Graber |
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ngaio Beck |
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