The night is iron ore, the sky as
black as flint,
and stars, like sparks of silver, innocently glint;
time, itself, mysteriously transforms,
its vital essence tamed by these strange forms.
Beneath an opal moon where, like lava flowing,
the desert sands ripple, orange embers glowing.
Triangles eternal-shapes cut out of the night-
each like a prism absorbing a beam of light
that inculcates unseen sinews of stone,
down a deep shaft that threads the inner cone,
until, slowly, revealing a once secret room,
an ancient burial chamber, a pharoah's tomb.
Perhaps,like Tutankhamun, his face a mask of solid gold.
To imagine, conceive of? Yet to actually behold?
Bold amulets and jewels, all red, blue and green.
A chaos of colour; how they glitter and gleam!
Or his chariots, his magnificent treasure;
a moment so precious would be beyond measure!
Now the light's dimmer, quietly leaks away,
throwing a dark shroud over the place he still lay.
The beam retreats along the shaft to now return
to a dark sky where a few stars still faintly burn.
Soon the sands grow brighter, the sky a sapphire blue,
and, as if all the myths were suddenly come true!
A golden sun rises, a new day dawns;
and the pyramids now are burnished bronze!
