mortality and riches

kings entombed in pyramids are not immortal.

enshrined in their mortality, trapped in their lifespan

they are the quotient of the division they sowed

ruling the lower classes by fright and fright alone

until they absorb it as their own, turned to stone.

fossils of a crueler time, ruins of a civilization's pride.

glaciers will melt, mountains will tumble

destruction is a habit, one impossible to break

similar to the eternal pyramids, and just as bleak:

a pharaoh can stand on his balcony and watch

his predecessors trapped forever by their own pride

never getting to ride in the helicopters of the future,

they will slumber while progress awakens,

until their bodies crumble into dust,

becoming the harsh desert they were born in.

rulers were enmeshed in their sand-coated lives,

never blessed by the smooth movements of a jellyfish,

or the chitter of a chipmunk, mouth filled with winter fuel.

they never got to stare into an ocean sunset.

in life, they were trapped in their fear of death,

even as they continued their march towards it.

and when they finally did crumple

at the end of their walk towards unattainable progress,

they built themselves towers, far from typical

so even in death they could not be doubted.

yet still, they were nothing but mortal,

even as they claimed to be hosts to gods.

not so powerful after all.