King Tut

King Tut

When I look into the eyes of his mask,
Ruling Egypt at such a young age seemed to be quite a task.
Not only do I see a young one ruling,
But I hear his people mourning,
Over their king’s death.

I look at his wondrous golden face of remembrance,
His black eyes like black skies,
The colored glass and semiprecious stones upon his huge mask glitter,
Like the stars in the sky that form the big dipper.
The luscious gold embalmed upon his face from changing any the slightest detail.
The dark blue stripes resembling the great Nile that flowed, never to fail.

I could imagine his soul, his spirit, flying above clouds like an angel,
Searching in pursuit to find his body.
When at last he spots his golden, musty, but sleek to the touch, of his mask
A sudden familiar face which is his,
For his spirit to finally lie upon his body and rest at last.