Tep en Seshta

Cartonnage and gold gods’ flesh
To cover your broken skull,
And now you’re the mystery

Held by the god of silence
Who shines past illness and death.
It was a fine tradition

While it lasted, if it meant
Nothing to the dead. Nothing
Means anything to the dead,

Not even death, since the dead
Don’t pay any attention,
And attention plants meanings.

But the living are paying,
Still paying for everything,
Including the dead they’ve lost,

Hence your mask, symbolism
Richer than most, your features
Painted on god-kin gold skin.