Pharaoh

I live longer after death, under these shifting sands,
That sweep and sally over my sepulchral palace,
Where wrapped in the embalming rags of eternal youth
I lie tired of wandering in the limitless field of reed,
I seek solace in the sound of the scarabs that haunt
The empty chambers of my evanescent accursed heart,
And watch kingdoms fall, see them turn into aurulent dust,
Creating seas of deserts where only pyramids and dunes rise,
Once all that was born of the sun settles, and the Pharaohs die.