The Pyramids Conspire
by Gideon Burton
The pyramids conspire to remain
the metaphor despite their long erosion.
Despite the plunder, all of the corrosion
by robbers, tourists, treading down the range
of holiness erected by the same
compulsions – East beyond the West’s implosion,
reduced to glimmers, none of the explosion
of oily heat that bathes the Nile like rain
from some elapsed and sleeping god. The flood
of due affection waters marsh and shore,
provoking hope in soft ceramic folds
until the Hebrew turns it all to blood.
We lapping drink, and drinking gasping more
than this renewal of the green of gold.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Damon Photography