Anubis Taking Clinton to the Scales

The Savannah night was thick with mystery, the Spanish moss hanging low like veils between worlds. Clinton D. Powell, poet and seeker, stood at the threshold of the Duat—the ancient Egyptian underworld. Anubis, jackal-headed and solemn, guided him through the shimmering veil.

The air smelled of papyrus and sand, and the walls bore inscriptions—hieroglyphs etched by forgotten scribes. The path ahead was both familiar and otherworldly, like the verses Clinton had penned under moonlight.

Anubis led him to the Scales of Ma’at—a delicate balance that held the fate of souls. On one side rested a feather, ethereal and weightless. On the other, an empty vessel awaited Clinton’s heart. His ink-stained fingers trembled as he placed it there.

“Let your heart be weighed against truth,” Anubis intoned, his voice echoing through the cavernous hall. The feather quivered, and the cosmic winds held their breath. Clinton’s heart—the repository of love, pain, and wonder—was light, its beats in harmony with the celestial rhythm.

“Speak,” Anubis commanded. “Tell your story.”

And so, Clinton recited his poems—the ones written in dimly lit cafes, the ones whispered to the moon, the ones etched into the bark of ancient trees.

Anubis nodded. “Your heart is light, and your words resonate across dimensions. You may ascend.”

Clinton stepped into the cosmic light, leaving behind the scales and the mirror. His mortal form dissolved, and he became stardust, woven into the fabric of existence.

Somewhere in the cosmic expanse, Anubis listened—the jackal-headed guardian attuned to the rhythm of Clinton’s immortal verses. And as the Savannah River whispered secrets, the poet’s legacy echoed through eternity.