The Tomb Guardian

The Tomb Guardian

Note[1]

Bread is scarce

But a new feast daily

At the palace of the prince

While the dugs of other mothers

Wither

“The dead fare better”

Cry the unfed, unwashed

Silk and festival

Fete and soirée

Obsequious

Cantankerous

“Your grace”

“We beseech thee”

For sum inconsequential

A triviality

When those outside the gate

Huddle

By fetid sewers

Unnourished souls

Forgotten lives

Shuffle

Scurry

Wrap themselves

Against the cold

But cold passes through

The blocks of the tomb

Harbor the cold

Like the ice in the stream

They rob heat

The guardian shivers

All these dead

All past

But I am here

To keep them

From…

No one says

No one cares

No one comes

But they come


[1] Thanks to Franz Kafka for the idea from his The Warden of the Tomb.

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