Cryptic Crypts

Don't cry fuzzy funeral pictures puzzled 
then quest for a non-illuminated gravely missing
corner of an over-crowed brain only begging
to be rediscovered.
Dig up the dead surrounding earth and swing morgue handfuls
 as pall-bearers unburden secrets...the single
coffin yawns open bashfully.
Was there an apocryphal mummy?
Bound by Egyptian windings...enigmatically cut
carvings of Delphic trophies...tomb invaders
they say hieroglyphically but occults are known
but to lie; sweetly inscribed cartouches cabbalistic
allies in caverns perplexed and alone.
Please teraph's tease and in chambers made
tenebrous...don't vaguely befuddle over veiled
risks that all in crypts are thrall to the living
and chained to a grotto's inexplicable desire to wait arrantly.
Go mutedly they advise for mystic circles only revolve
in undercrofts and the quiet sweep unhurriedly
spans an attentively expedient gaze just to obscure.
Blaze the ghoulish party lanterns, for the following
interment may encompass another element shaped
from oracle design...bats and owls and cats and foul
familiar means abroad to just snag the final
thread of an unwound curiosity...shrouds pocketless... listen, shift
and dance through a draftless gloom and a clatter breaks
stiffly when the torch falls suddenly and the flame beholds briefly
the director of funerals extraordinaire...a joker's face
covered in his pale works pallor...digging graves and
covering creams with eyes non-sink blinking and hands ever spaded for the job. 
Deft  anagrams riddling as he works a shovel easily moving
the dirt of a once hidden century over an esoteric second's worth of
comprehension embalmed unclear and our nothingness rests in whispered obsequies
Last rite wrongly written for another mass buried requiem et hoc genus omne.