Written July 1,1995 after viewing a broadcast television show about the plight of the magnificent ancient Egyptian treasures.

Treasures of Tut and of Ramses II,
Glitters, impresses, never ceases to.
Magnificent treasures lastingly designed,
For high royalty, their life resigned.

Splendor for west journey nestled inside,
From dark force, the owners would hide.
Magnificent treasures, tribute collected
From contemporary artisans’ best selected,


Then bound with ceremony into the tomb—
To aid severed spirit’s return to the womb
Or to bolster and support and energy save
For effort needed to transcend grave.

But transcend grave only the treasures did,
Uprooted in fragments, vase, and lid,
Then stealthily moved on foot, by hand,
Day and night, magnificent contraband.

Morning side of Nile their place of rest,
Centuries companion to society’s “best,”
“Liberated” from royalty, it creates a thirst
Blood of thieves, robbers, society’s worst,

Spilled on tortuous path over and again,
Artifacts change hands, greed driving gain,
Sold through dealer, no name, no face,
Wending way to museum display case.

Magnificent treasures, organized by class
Sit on pedestals behind gleaming glass,
In ancient tombs, if back millennia we go,
Monument to king, now to curator’s ego.

Magnificent treasures, collectors by the score,
All the gaudy baubles that ancient royalty wore
Brings crowds of lookers, sight sure to please,
Marvel and wonder as into line they squeeze.

Officials cry, “National treasures converted,”
“Efforts by poachers and thieves, concerted,
Have gleaned the tombs,” goes their lament,
“Betray art and country for money they spent.”

Should we be moved by this propaganda mill?
Sans drying sun, pyramids with sweat fill,
From slaves who toiled, no salary, no wage,
Building tomb, kingly fears to assuage.

Treasures from slave pores painfully extruded,
With their personal desires cruelly excluded,
Treasures from blood—flesh spent on wonder,
Taken from captive men, their lives in plunder.

So what — if poachers’ old kings’ relics steal,
And sell to high bidder, items of most appeal?
King, architect, engineer, self-serving priest,
Can’t equal forced slave sweat, society’s least.

So what — if modern thieves this treasure seize,
Take it to fences, and art dealers squeeze?
These ancient artifacts bearing blood and guilt.
Thieves stole it, robbers ordered it built.

Magnificent treasure, bloody from inception!
Burn each haunted piece with no exception,
Or scatter to the wind each tainted beauty —
Grieving for blood treasure is no one’s duty.