Seth
Carpets stained and ripped,
blackened halls with cold chandeliers.
Hungry embers beg to be ignited,
no light may enter the forbidden chambers.
Mold grows on broken windows,
drowning out screams of thunder.
Secrets remain in scattered glass,
reflections of ancestors’ past.
Hope decays in hollow rooms,
shadows wait behind closed doors,
secrets lie ruined in rubble,
shame scattered in every corridor.
Upon the throne of dust and dread,
this place reigns above the dead.
Trapped within this tomb out of breath—
is the one that wears the mask of death.
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