Dreams of the Liche

I have been here before in life… a forgotten martyr of a desperate time. Now I lay concealed beneath these layers of dead skin, mummified cartilage and muscle.
The life giving waters have long ago fled back to the sea.
Left alone my corpse’s slow decay releases back my last breaths of air. Returning what little good it once kept trapped within.
Somewhere solemn words stand forgotten carved deep in weathered stone. “The Last”.
Birth shown without beginning. Death left unchiseled. Such a precious thing as life left blank.
Was it for convenience or from lack of concern.
The curious may one day find this bolt hole where I sit enthroned. Disturbing my promised eternities, foolishly attempting to pry from dead lips secrets of forgotten times.

Agelessly, lidless eyes watch for the coming day. Stiff bones growing impatient of the wait.
Silently I listen to the world just beyond wooden walls and marble stone. Remembered sounds echoing out inside the powdered dust that once was brain.
The constant intrusion of spider and moth from clay stained crevices. Pillows and tapestry they weave for me. Adorning my once vibrant pastels in a virgin bower of silken whites.
Dressed in such royalty all my court gather near.
The maddening chirp of the camel crickets add to the music of my ballroom. Beneath the chandeliers of glowworms the seething hoard claw away the grime leaving traced lines as forgotten mosaics.

Still I wait for you my love. Promises made in youth still bind. In death they hold more honest truth. In sickness an in health, for richer and for poor, let none separate what here has been joined, even upon death one should depart. In unity, what once was two, now man and woman be made whole.

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