Tight linen strips bind me,
My eyes, they cannot see
All is dark,
A moonless night,
The inner sanctuary.

My lips, they cannot move,
Clamped shut and bound,
Silence rides the still, stale air.

Confined within the sarcophagus,
My veins run dry,
My muscles lay motionless,
My heart a cold, broken lump
Of misery.

Patiently, I await the Black Beetle,
Knowing it shares my tiny space.

Oh, Scarab!
Release me, set me free!
Resurrection calls my name.

*

Wanted to say Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed my other poems! Bless you:)

This poem appears in my collection, Fluidity of Creation: Poetry of Love, Loss, and the Occult. There are 100 poems in this collection.