IMMORTALITY AND THE MUMMY VIZER

By: Roland Crevecoeur Jr., M.D.

Life beyond — what lies in store?

A fading ghost, a name no more?

Do we endure in spirit’s light,

Or linger in a mind at night?

Perhaps both fates await the dead.

What must one give to rise instead?

Live the good life, safe, and bright —

But what if goodness hides the spite?

Come closer now. The sands will speak

Of ancient debts the dead still seek.

Just yesterday, the papers told

Of bodies battered, bruised, and cold.

The coroner’s voice sank low with dread

As we examined the nameless dead.

“I’ve seen the kinds of death before—

A heart chewed out, yet not a scar.”

“Did you wish him harm? the coroner cried.

“Yes,” he said, and tried to hide.

“Then you’ll be next.” “Why me?” he asked.

“Your debt comes due the year’s passed.

The Mummy Vizer keeps his score.

he takes what’s owed—and nothing more.”

His tale began in distant years,

When men were paid in bread and beers.

The desert air was thick with heat

And spells that stirred beneath the street.

Some called for doom in their despair,

And send their curses through the air.

“Revenge is mine,” the Lord decrees—

“As impure hearts sow darken seeds.”

The callers never saw their foes

Succumb to what their hatred rose.

But gloom returned and took its toll:

Their debts were paid in flesh and soul.

“By whom?” you ask.

“What force, what name?”

By one who feeds

on hate and blame.

Grandson to Ramses I

Of many, but a cherished son.

A bastard, born of lower birth,

so they thought of lesser worth,

He was loving, brave and kind,

and possessed the keenest mind.

The scribes taught letters; life taught rules.

Lessons learned but not in school.

He could not wear the crown, they said—

Vizier to the King instead.

He swallowed pride and hid the ache,

And smiled for every courtier's sake.

When floods ran low and granaries bare,

The people cursed him in the square.

When the Nile arose and harvests sored

The king took praise; but he ignored

Still, he had comfort, land, and wife,

A modest peace, a measured life.

He thought that death would bring release—

At Osiris' place of rest and peace.

But when he died, his enemies came.

The priests who'd feared him struck in shame.

They carved his face, erased his name,

And left his loved ones with the blame.

They robbed his tomb. They gauged his eyes,

blind to know the earth and skies—

forgetting the man he once had been,

Nor finding the path to life again.

His heart was weighed against a feather

To learn what waited him forever.

It sank. The truth was plain to see:

His heart was heavy with deceit.

The good he'd done had served one aim:

To guard his name, secure his fame.

He'd buried every thwarted dream,

And called his silence the peace it seemed..

The devourer rose. Its jaws came down.

It tore his heart without a sound.

Yet left his body, bound and dry,

To wake beneath the dead man's sky.

Life was meant to be moral and true

to the heart and others too

If that was real, then perhaps an extension

as that's' the price for the holiest pension.

He fled that place, BLIND with rage,

His wrappings rasping like a cage.

Between the worlds, where time decays,

He hunted those who'd sealed his ways.

Now hatred was the only breath

That kept him moving after death.

He roamed where bitter wishes rise

And listened for the spiteful cries.

For evil does not die with men—

It walks the earth and comes again.

So, guard the wishes you set free.

The dead may hear your final plea.

And chew your heart without a scratch

And whomsoever else they catch

Especially a vengeful fiend

who claims his debts on……HALLOWEEN!