For a few fleeting months or
years you were a king, ruling
the Nile delta or from Thebes,
a few fleeting moments a crown
on your shaved head, and then
that crown passed onto other
troubled brows, and all that exists
of your time as the Son of Re
is a scarab or two, or an axe
inscribed with your serekh,
a name partly lost on a king
list fallen into pieces.
05.12.2023
#Poem #Poetry #Poems #Verse
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