Long languid air atrophied the tomb of Aten
Traps, tribulations to thwart thievery
Boulders which fall and what’s struck flattens
Stairs giving to slides, circling to pits of spikes
Vipers in corners, genetically antient, striking out
Fanglike pillars flanking doorway which only one true sees
Inside your vast golden sarcophagus, the patience of trees
On knees but fierce a criosphinx flanks your resting stone
Leonine claws etched not in rock but carved from time itself
Flesh and bloodless, without the bone that lends it pride and poise
Yet fierce more than its living mirror, this mimic a finer idol fashioned than creation
Of course a heresy but such excitement upon the diggers then that blasphemy recreation
Became. Becalmed with breathing, doubtless lurgies inhaling, approached the lion ram
Chimera of celestial curator’s wing, what curious morality posture implies
What black prayers were kissed unto those lip-worn claws
What ill thought rests even now upon your graven flank.
Alchemisland 
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