Ptah

Composed by: Lily Dorranian

Ptah

Ancient being,

Patron of the craftsmen,

Representing the workers

Who built the foundations of a city

Or the pillars on a grecian porch.

The weaver of wiles,

upholders of creation,

The Cherubims and the acolytes,

Who are servants to a Lord-

A deeply penetrative being who is

embedded thrice into their core.

Masters of craft

They wield their hammers

Guided by innate desires

To forge a man-made dream.

And so it begins.

Bearing youth in their arms,

She is thrown into the kiln to shape her mortal clay,

The blaze roars with haunted screams.

And Mount Sinai sings from the hallowed flames.

Hell-born child,

memphian olive or beige,

Made in likeness of a collectively wished upon Ivory maid.

A mosaic and frightening chimaera.

Encased in a tender prison.

Beneath her film of flesh,

The cursed things inside her grew

Fostering in the silence,

Blisters of sin.

The leper will lose her colour,

And grow unappealing pockets of pus,

The workers will be beckoned back

by the wrath of desire.

Stone altar, iron anvil, Violent clangs,

His immortal finger strook,

Layer and layer, foreheads of sweat.

Sweet desire will ascend the blaze.

She is brought out once more,

moulded to his touch.

Now cold and rounded stone,

Entangled in a forged reality.

In the centre of town she will go,

Offerings, sacrifices and endless prayer.

Frozen in a prison of physicality.

The lack of identity she cannot bear.

Time wavers,

cracks begin to form,

Liquid notes seep out

with sonorous force.

A Thousand echoes escape

And ride the melodious wave.

Listen

Listen for the solemn sweet pipes

The wheezing of her aching organ,

Restless keys pressed down inside her soul

Barbaric yawps and guttural screams

Sounds sourced from the depths of the wild.

Beats of breath, syllables of her chest

Underscore the rhythm of a future hell born child.

Outside there is only silence.

Time wavers and her Sufferance will wilt.

Withering in the soil, scathing the forest oaks.

The ivory maid still stands,

Limbs broken and others fallen off.

An Odd muse of time.

Symbol of mankind;

Flesh daughters fear the statue with no name.

They know the basket that carries fruit,

But not the tender aches held within her frame.

She stands over the girls in withered glory,

The infernal serpent seeps from the cracks of stone

the girls are a solemn feast

A banquet ripe with immortality,

Flesh daughters and fresh slaughters,

Bearing the state of innocence

A worker's touch is inevitable,

They ride malleable waves.

The daughters are consumed by inevitability.

Wild animal turned on a spit,

Struck from mouth to anus,

Roasting, served in severed parts.

Spit strings of gluttony,

A foul odour from the mouth,

Overwhelming accords of greed,

It’s an Insatiable hunger, an unmoving void.

The ultimate talisman of humanity,

A continual state,

Perpetual incapacity.

A vacuum.

Look back.

Siphon through the tide of history,

open your eyes in the darkness,

experience the void.

Feel the silence, know its stillness

Kiss it, touch it, hear it sing,

Let the expressive notes ring

Keep your eyes open.

The void will show you the truth.

Its darkness will multiply,

Kaleidoscopic vision

Lifetimes and decades will reveal themself

Let the experiences embody you,

Merge beings,

Dissipate.

Share the burden and know the stories

Renaissance middle age or enlightened,

Enter their bodies

Feel the pressure of sin

The weight of sufferance

Your spine will bend.

Let it break

Be torn in two,

Unfix yourself from what is set

Tender mitosis,

Dissolve.

Lose the fragments,

Velvet night,

And pile into ash.

Collect yourself in handfuls

Fall through the cracks

There is no wind in the immovable darkness.

It is only still.