My shattered utopia
Can only be restored with
My self as burnt offering

My shattered utopia
Can only be restored with
My self as burnt offering
Every day is just like the
Last; desperation flashes
Through me; I swallow, again.
Waiting to hit rock bottom,
I continued to fall, through
Infinite space, faster still
Where can I be safe?
How can I escape?
When will you forgive?
I would not be a mage of
Any worth had I not burnt
Every tome before you came.
You may torture and kill me
But you will never learn the
Secrets of my mystic arts.
Though I am a mighty king,
I am an illustrious
Prisoner of this mantle.
If my strength should fail, even
For a moment, I will be
Executed by next moon.
Hesitating to open
The ancient reliquary,
I finally cracked the seal.
A mist of dust clouded my
Sight, and I gazed at a small
Mirror. My face contorted
Until, as my consciousness
Died, I recognized the smile
Of that blessed Saint Amun.
It’s not ambiguous. The
Net tightens. The darkness falls.
Everything we feared, comes true.
These years have been an
Ever building Crescendo
Without climax; I
Endlessly repeat
My devotions, awaiting
Some judgment, some peace.