Jude Herrick Poet Rhyme

In the Valley of the Kings

Destitute is the productive, empty lives 
                         who Garner the plain 
         with heavy chains and a directive, pain.

               Stone on stone they lay, the bedrock, 
                    of their own, unheralded graves. 
                 Each day a March of the little death,  
          terra-families in bondage to circumstance 
                              until last breath. 
         Until Lifes taskmaster calls them asunder.
Until each ghosts the valley as a piece of it's render. 
            Rending afar into the forgotten memory 
                   and silent voice of the landscape. 
    It being soul witness; sole attorney with a grimace, 
               to opine upon the court of the stars. 

                    Ironic to be in the construction 
                          of their own destruction, 
                         of death in craftsmanship. 
                                     Servile-letting, 
                                of whip, a chorusing, 
                                          coralling 
                                   into the building, 
                             of the Tomb of another. 
                  A demon king, Son of Sun basking. 
                           Plumblined into their lives 
                      as a heavier burden than stone. 
                 Fortune-masking. Jeweled in fasting. 
                         From the Valley of the Kings. 
          When they shall be. Redeemed. Everlasting.

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