Sweet Dreams
If Mummies Could Talk
The shroud surrounds the body
Oh death where is thy sting?
The dead live on for centuries
Listen – hear them sing.
They cry for mercy – LET US GO
We’ve paid our debt to all
Encased in wooden coffins
Lined against the wall.
They carved our coffins with signs of gods
And birds with gilded gold
To protect us as we lay here
No knowing where we’d go.
This was SACRED – where we lay,
Please – don’t come so near
Not meant for you to stare and say
“What’s this, what’s that, look here.”
You see our bodies wrapped in cloth
Our skin preserved like clay
You cannot see what’s in our hearts’
Or know what made us grey.
And now two thousand years have past
You stare at us through guarded glass
Grant us I pray our dignity
Turn out the lights….. & & AND GO AWAY!!!
(c)g.abbey. Standing in a room of mummies at the Egyptian Exhibit in London
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By way of explanation for those unfamiliar with this use of the term: definition of ”purl” =
”eddy, swirl of water, crochet stitch”, as you see here
The purl of the river babbled around her
As the purl of her hand knit sweater unraveled
Similar to the unraveling her life started
Those many years ago when her life traveled
The first broke the foundation of the marriage
With the litany of his disparage
Of the the lust in his heart, which first?
When he gave in or was it the thirst??
Who is to say? It says, ”to lust in your heart is
The same sin as to commit the sin” his
I wonder, has he learned the lessson, too?
For his life turned into a zoo.
The purl in the sweater that unraveled
Was the last purl she ever raveled
She put up her yarns and needles
And traded them for bugs and Beatles.
Something she had no interest in before
As she listened to hymns, it was no chore.
Worship of the God they had sworn to speak of
For the rest of their lives, broke, the 2nd vow of love
Now he’s gone – she’s gone
And the children didn’t keep
They fell apart in their own way
One up, one down, I wonder, do They sleep?
And this last Mother’s day once more
Was spent alone, no calls, such a bore.
Unrequited sleep, despite the efforts of the second
Who tried his best me to beckon
From a sleep begun, never to be undone,
For sleep, when gotten, covers the shun.
©g.abbey
2011