Here are some mummy poems to enchant you. It’s just some withering verse and desiccated compositions. We hope they send at least a few shivers through you. These are original poems you’ll find only on Shadow of Iris.
Master of the Mummy, a poem
by Marya Ophir
Hidden and secreted—
mysteries known only to I
passed down through the ages
father to son from time immemorial.
Hidden properties of matter—
spells and rituals from gods
incomprehensible;
words alone will not satisfy,
drama is needed
to comfort the sinner,
to heal the sick,
to send the dead on their way.
Gifts are needed:
honey beer, clothes, unguents,
the method of your transmutation;
these things only I know,
I am Kheri Heb, the mummy master.
Celebrate life:
which is death,
mummification,
resurrection,
enthronement;
do exactly as I say:
open the mouth of the dead
and the mummy will rise.
Rubrics you’ll never grasp,
try you may;
four amulets in four walls,
blazing torches fill each one—
remember to put them out
with the milk of a white cow.
Try as you may,
the secrets that lay within me
you’ll never have;
hieroglyphs on the temple wall
will stir you to action,
take the form of an ape
or the form of of a bull,
then place them just right—
sacred objects to prolong
your life and renew your birth.
These things only I know,
for I am the mummy master.
Ra rises from the water of Nunu;
a screaming woman gives birth
while Anubis grasps her hand—
if it’s virility and strength you want
then come to me, I’ll grant it all,
for I am the mummy master.
Figurines with heads of serpents,
dogs, crocodiles, baboons with knives—
these are meanings you’ll never get
unless you turn to me,
Kheri Heb, master of the mummy.
For a price I’ll give you
what you need or failing this
I’ll take your soul
and leave you empty.
Rise Up, a poem
by Paul Bearer
A hieratic text,
A theological work,
all about supposed identities
and long forgotten religions,
ancient cults.
It’s all there
in an inscribed roll
of papyrus
found in a tomb.
It’s series of spells
for use
on the deceased.
I don’t know
what it will do to me?
Don’t cling to the firm—
to what you thought you knew
yesterday,
for tomorrow something new
is coming into being.
Mummified Judgement, a poem
by Emma Blue
Osiris sits in judgement
on a pedestal of nine steps.
My sins are all too apparent to him.
A pair of scales are balanced
on a mummy, and they tip
in the wrong direction.
Thoth, the baboon, stands
upon a boat to take me away.
There is a black pig out there
that waits for me.
Anubis looks on
saying nothing—
his eyes, so sad.
With Egypt’s art thy pen may strive:
One potent drop let this but shed,
And every Rogue that stunk alive,
Becomes a precious Mummy dead.
— Alexander Pope
We hope you enjoyed these poems, and that they roused you up from some lifeless torpor. We’ve carefully and astutely avoided mention of any curses, especially those that might have to do with mummies, but nevertheless we hope our poetry did its due. Remember to go to the side bar and follow Shadow of Iris, so that you don’t miss our next rousing poem!