Great Death Pits

Eft-nibbled, the king’s toes
Become other lives
Along with the lives
Of the king’s servants
Killed to still serve him.

It’s hard to maintain
This grand tradition
Of sinking dozens
Of assistant lives
In the underworld.

Sooner or later,
Either effigies
Serve as attendants,
Mannequin soldiers
Massed within the tomb,

Or the custom goes
Altogether, done.
Even the embalmed
Tyrant on display
Must corpse all alone.

You wonder if they
Take more lives in life
When they can’t take them
With them to the fens.
Kings take what they can.