Reflections of a Pharaoh

I died a king.
A son of Ra.
And they buried me
in gold.

They dug me up.
Centuries hence,
and to Merchant kings
I was sold.

My tomb and all its treasures.
That even Isis could not guard,
my Guilded sword and golden sheath.
Withered to a rusty shard.

And they took away my Pyramid.
put me in a case of glass,
surrounded by my people’s ruins.
Even Amun, King of Gods, I do out last.

“Some stupid old carved stone”,
a woman scoffed.
At my son’s sarcophagus,
“And there the same, useless, broken rock,
‘an emblem for the God Horus'”

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