Part 1: Musings on a museum

Museum Part I 
My new words are housed in this ancient museum 
Dust softly wafts down to stick to ink 
as it dances across the paper. 
Immediately redundant and tired 
they fade further into irrelevance 
with each passing second. 

This ancient museum is a place where 
ideas come to grow lonely. 
No visitors crowd the corridors 
it is a monument to ego and hubris. 
The janitor's worn out broom barely teases the floor. 
Like him we are all just going through the motions- 
labelling exhibits that no-one will see 
justifying acquisitions with arguments 
of artistic merit that no-one will hear. 

Ringing as hollow as the hallways 
and empty promises made long ago. 
Going through the motions, 
our lives touch but make no impression. 
A beige world caught in neutral 
with an edifice of fake marble veneer 
you see where it has cracked from 
the weight of absent expectations. 

Inertia - a force so great it glues us to this place. 
And still my words spill onto the paper, 
collecting dust particles 
and ideas 
that will live forever undisturbed- 
lonely and forgotten 
in this ancient museum.