A modern-day God of Egypt,
breath stale with time gone past,
you bring me through the night,
sleeping soundly by thy side.
And yet, as I wake,
that seems my mistake,
for you’ve torn the linens to pieces,
and wrapped me up in salt-soaked ribbons;
Now, that’s because, you say,
that in a game of papier-mâché,
there’s no place for nay.
A. R. Frederiksen is a recurring guest blogger here at BnV, and her own writing blog can be found here, where she dabbles in flashfiction/poetry and reflects over the, much elusive, ABCs of writing.