In my tomb,
few dare to tread.
Just the skeletal armies
of the living dead.
Keeping raiders
from my place of rest.
If you want to get close,
it's a life-or-death test.
I'm a relic encased in a diamond shell.
An old, weathered scroll.
An old soul, tethered to hell.
A statuesque museum piece.
Pull the right lever
and you may learn more,
the wrong one
and that's it, game over
as you fall through
the hole in the floor.
Not Lara, Indiana
nor the guy from uncharted,
would get close
to these ruins,
this temple of thoughts departed.
Not a hope in hell
of breaching these walls
within which I dwell.
Ancient dust, gold turned to rust,
some traps are a game of trust
others a leap of faith,
through scything blades.
Unknown languages
scrawled on the walls,
riddles to keep the bridges drawn.
My defences creak with a weary sigh,
letting the poison-tipped arrows fly.
You'll never find the treasure,
It's locked down deep,
in a darkened room.
Rolling boulders of doom
through cobwebs
and overgrown bush,
ready to crush
like pins at a bowling aisle,
pits of fire you must traverse,
it’s a curse, a trial
to protect my own private universe.
Thanks for reading
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