The Serpent of Chaos
How could humanity envision the heavens beyond him,
Vast galaxies littering the night sky like splotches of paint?
Before his body appears, our first sight is Ra’s power,
Burnt orange encased in a disk, bubbling like
Boiling tomato soup, within the grasp of a coiled cobra.
His falcon head peeks over the horizon,
Yellow rings encircle his weary black eyes,
A small beak stretches above that blank mouth,
Never speaking, only riding upon his long, narrow raft,
With peeling black paint beside the polished oars.
Below his neckline, Ra appears human,
Although his tanned, toned chest glows with divinity,
And in one tight grip he holds a rusted ankh,
Possessing and wielding life itself.
As his light spreads throughout the desert,
Crops grow, animals feast and bask in its warmth.
For twelve long hours, he sails the cloudless sky,
And when he begins his descent, he can’t help
But clench his fists and shudder,
For he knows what is coming.
On and on, he arcs towards Earth,
His loyal worshippers, but he cannot
Enjoy their prayers, for the soil rumbles
And groans with cruel chuckles.
Just before his ship can touch the blades of grass
And the roaring river of the Nile, it appears.
Only Ra can see its horrid form, why he cannot speak.
From Hell, the endless slithering of the rearing cobra,
Dark gray and spiked, more like a dragon than a snake,
The father of that which encircles his disk, a reminder
Of his nightly fate. Larger than the pyramids of today
Or the skyscrapers of tomorrow, Apophis stretches up to the plains,
Dragging the stench of sulfur and brimstone in its wake,
Molten lava twirling around its head like a halo.
Ra knows this ordeal too well. Knows how Apophis will unhinge its massive jaw,
Engorge itself on his pitiful barque, and sink back into the Underworld.
He knows the corrupt darkness within its mouth, dragging him to slumber,
Knows the glowing green saliva that will peel his skin like a fresh apple,
The rotten chunks of demon flesh wedged between its sunken teeth
As they gnash upon his vessel, reducing his blazing boat to splinters.
Every limb is torn apart by its fangs, injecting poison through his body
To paralyze every atom within him, so he cannot even cry out in pain.
Death courts him for six hours as his remains wallow in the serpent’s stomach,
Until a red spearhead slices through the lining of its intestines, leaving a pinprick
Of light like a peephole shining through, and the jackal, Set, pounces into the belly,
Seizing the ankh, glowing pink and purple as he escapes back to his barge.
He returns to the prow, and where none stood before, Ra, resurrected,
Glittering lights trailing from the ankh toward his forming body, waits.
You took longer this time. Not words, but gestures, a hand pointing above
To the sparkling moon, and a twitch of his beak. Set, lord of violence,
Points to the oily current stirring underneath the barge. The Duat held me up.
Ra folds his arms. You enjoy letting me stew in there, don’t you? No response.
Apophis leers back, ready to pounce upon Ra once more, but Set brandishes
His bloodied spear, ears pointed, drooping, as if inviting the challenge.
The serpent hisses and sinks into the river of the Underworld, content to wait
For its meal to complete his orbit once again. The god sighs, but bothers
Not to complain. Every day must end with the sun swallowed whole.
Aaron Scott is a student at Randolph College and is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Fine Arts in English with an Emphasis in Creative Writing. He grew up in Woodbridge, VA, with aspirations to become a published author, and is seeking representation for his forthcoming novel.