Floriferous Poetry: A Museum of The Mind.

Conserved ramblings, curated for you.

Transparent,

made of glass,

thick and heavy,

a sealed, indestructible wall,

slotted between,

only just noticeable, 

barely seen.

So not to mask,

the curated view,

of the treasured contents,

preserved there, 

only handled by the few,

on the false pretence, 

it’s there, for you.

People wander around,

some with their heads, slightly askew, 

and some press their hands and faces,

on the cold, hard glass,

of the large, looming, museum cases.

The objects inside are unique and rare,

a life,

a fragment,

a story, forever trapped there.

People may stop to look,

to gawp,

and stare,

at the little portion of a life, laid bare. 

a few may linger, a little longer there,

but most walk by, without a care.