Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Exhibit K

This poem was written for Magpie Tales #58



My dignity tacked up on a wall
like some ancient weaponry
of a long-forgotten battle

The museum curator 
(for posterity)
dusts off my soul 
  held inside a shoddy display case

I will only know this wall,
his calloused grip,
and strangers' eyes.

I will never again know
the elevation of victory,
the spoils of war,
the inside of you.

14 comments:

Friko said...

It sounds very sad.
If it's the weaponry alone then I I am glad.

The metaphor is so final, so hopeless.

120 Socks said...

Oh I like that you became the prompt and a really interesting take on it!

Old 333 said...

I like the idea of a soul museum; broken love and shimmering, undying dreams hung in row on dusty row like old tabards and swords and the occasional helmeted bust...

Cool poem, Templeton. Thanks for it.

Peter G.

Helen said...

A totally different perspective on what's hanging on that wall ... nicely done!

Carrie Burtt said...

This is a powerful one Templeton....I am so glad you are back....we have missed you! :-)

Dishilicious said...

really really like this, nicely written.

Old Ollie said...

Fun poem - dynamic!

HyperCRYPTICal said...

Really, really like this too!

Anna :o]

Jinksy said...

You sure found an unusual viewpoint! :)

Lucy Westenra said...

A nice idea, and I liked the potentially gory last line.

Promising Poets Parking Lot said...

masterful writing..

Everyday Goddess said...

captivating!

Thoughts Not Lost said...

Wonderful!

Tess Kincaid said...

Love the symbolism here. Nice.