King’s Chamber

They call the room the king’s,

But no one knows a name

Or a true function. (The room exists,

That’s all the scholars really know.)

We enter like mice, emerging from a corner

After a long climb.

 

The way up was a ramp of wood, cleated

To offer foothold. We, fitting ourselves

To the low constricted passage, walked contorted.

Under the gallery’s stone sky, we walked upright

But dwarfed. At passage’s end, after two iron rungs,

Again, we crouched.

 

Souls were tested in this room. Ceremony

Filled it with astral images we will never know,

Creating, employing, dissolving forms, leaving,

For those without eyes to see, only an empty room

And a stone sarcophagus (as the scholars name it).

Only stone.

 

 

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