Let’s boogie!
My music in tuning with earths vibrations,
Hymns: sound booming; to the core,
Bass drum to brass chains-
Matching with my skin tone,
The great song of my life.
So I design myself...
A blue print: I’m laying down bricks;
The cornerstone of the foundation-
To constructing the pyramid;
Of my psyche... A young pharaoh: Tutankhamen
Raised by the sun, my father Amen Ra!
Now I'm a man and "more"...
An illuminated being, crowned:
A "pharaoh"... As I follow these lines,
Right angles pointing east,
"Why-is" it so difficult being right?
Tutankhamen’s demise;
unfortunate boy king, all too soon cut down;
before adulthood.
His spirit echoes one last cry throughout eternity.
Akhenaton’s son, bred for the throne of Egypt,
leaves a legacy short, but never forgotten.
Lapis lazuli and gold death mask;
preserved for all time.
A precious reminder of Egypt’s,
throne-child; now perused by modern eyes.
No one’s grave should be robbed,
for treasure, to be gawked at; put it back!
Children deserve respect, too.
There is enough gold and gems,
in the ground, to mine for everyone.
Grave robbing, is theft;
even when done by archaeologists.
Stealing from a dead child’s tomb,
is about as, low as theft gets.
Research, in no way, justifies this abominable act.
Respect is only earned, by the giving, of same.
The past, has passed; leave it be and forge a new beginning.
That’s how it’s supposed to be.
Tut’s afterlife should have the respect.
that he was robbed of, in mortal life.
THE DEATH OF TUTANKHAMEN Part VI.
How old are you--young man--why do you stare?
The world awaits for you to raise your soul--
though fettered to the wind--and ev'rywhere,
in time a dream will make you free and whole--
to walk again--the Valley of the Kings
and ride upon the waters of the Nile--
where spirits bathe, and Nephritite sings,
the secrets of the past--for yet a while,
the world is obdurate of any scheme,
that brings new life--once death has made its' call
though greater men than you--have known this dream,
not one still hides behind his secret wall--
and no remains--stay hidden to the past--
if golden chains are known to hold them fast.
© Ron wilson aka vee bdosa
I sit on top of pyramids and scale my landscape of ancient tombs with expired
pharaohs in them
a queen once watched is now lived (through me )
with stone and pallet I begin to etch in stone the names of my children
starting with Q Nefertti and K Tutankhamen
Brick By Brick just like the peasants built the pyramids
so that when I took my last breath of life in this palace the temple of my eternal
soul will live
It became longevity for me to understand that the sun evolved from the light in my
soul and the moon was the dark part of my eye color and yet the white part too I
never knew that some of the stars were millions of my kin kings queens price’s
and princesses and gifted and talented beings shooting stars are my mentors
falling back to me from the sky what I found when I looked again I didn’t even
know every grain of sand and dirt were marks to the path I would see when I
began my journey to the end of my life I went through so many phases and
changes sitting mounted on my pyramid home that when I was done my destiny
was on ……
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