a sarcophagus within a sarcophagus

a sarcophagus within a sarcophagus the shell, the mimic of the tomb and the tomb, the mimic of the buried daggers and poison piece the shell chipping it away eroding it hungry men claw at the golden scales claiming that within is not so that naught but a rotten husk sleeps and its sleep of fruit and treasure sweetness of every kind and the entombed weeps though he does not know it for he sees through the eyes of the shining hull which sees from the eyes of the grave and the grave does not see for it knows why each layer was fashioned the shell’s rubies and emerald and its sapphire paint and golden plating slowly discolor and fade as the unburied, tortured for their nakedness claw at the entombed intending to tear him to their world though within they will find naught but an empty catacomb devoid of story barren of light simply filled with recognition in silence before the entombed rises and laughs a wheezing vain as he points a withered finger and mocks them for their unarmored disgust and as the finger breaks off becoming dust before it reaches the floor this pharaoh wheezes out the remaining life as the corpse fulfills itself and finally the tomb is quiet it had always been quiet and storyless but the pharaoh had insisted it full confusing the unbearable lack of magic for its deception striving to discover it within burial and only if he had known to push the crumbling lid from the chaining container and to find the overflowing legend all about him eager to enter.