The Harper’s Song : Amonkhet Invocations

Oh Amonkhet,
Your Invocations only invoke our ire.
Your design has sunk to the dark depths
Beneath the fast-flowing river of twitter
Crocodiles swim over the top of it
We do not dare go near.
The river stretches wide
And though I shade my eyes
I can not read the text writ in the skies
I am blinded.
But not by the beauty I wished for.
If I look within I see the beauty of artists
Hammer and chisel they carved
Their piece of Amonkhet
To stand throughout the ages
And yet
Surrounding that heavenly art
Not a golden palace
But a death-shroud.
The words are loud, angry
They echo like a brass bell
And strike the ears of my soul
The names are of a language
Almost mine, but not.
And I can not read these words.
Oh, Amonkhet
I will never know
What your Invocations contain.

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