the masks of Ra

After midnight, when my inner voice
is whispering in tongues,
I remember that the poets of new thought
are forever in the future.

I never hear what’s said,
only echoes of what isn’t.

~⊕~

When the moon’s complete,
Selena shapes her lunar light
to pale beauty, ghosts who stare
with dry-ice eyes, sharp and unforgiving.

They turn my dreams to arctic dust
and leave behind erasure.

~⊗~

Soon the solar flares will light the Catherine Wheels,
and the worthy who so deem themselves
will wear the masks of Ra.

Blindfold in the quiet streets, I’ll heed
the subtle warnings of the lifeless,
and wonder what awaits us all.


artwork

Subtle Warnings, from a stunning original photograph of Boral Cement Works at Berrima, courtesy Mark Freeman, with the ominous visual evo engine and ghostly CYNDE, cyclic nonlinear desaturation.

6 thoughts on “the masks of Ra

    • Thanks, Nikita. I’m happy that I have more nights where I sleep than the other kind. Once it wasn’t that way. I still find it difficult to accept what I cannot change, and let it go. That’s always worse at night.

    • I agree. Although I’m night blind, when I was young, it wasn’t as bad, and after a time, the rods in my retina would start to work and I had normal black-and-white night vision. I used to love playing hide-and-seek amongst the trees, so much easier without colour. It was like another world. And I read how to see the flashes of cosmic rays on the retina in absolute darkness, I saw a few in the laundry at night.

      Admittedly the bedroom isn’t quite the same. And I’m not quite the same.😸

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