The pyramids are a mystery and marvel,
An outsized tombstone for a soul,
Aged stones for a small parcel,
Silent images, they do cajole.
Opinions vary, some controversial,
‘Mid sand and dust of their history.
For immortality, a dress rehearsal?
The desert winds blow in mystery.
A transporting vessel for a spirit,
Hang on, old ruler, our just pharaoh.
We want the journey to be coherent,
Flying like a metaphysical arrow.
To find at last the center mark,
Thru dimensions a real achievement,
An oasis on the eternal arc,
Short is the time of bereavement.
But is this room just for one?
All receive warmth from the sun.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.