Museum
Red, tattered clothing, stained
With an old familiar scent.
One that is comforting
But also dense. It must have been
Worn by a Soldier. This
I know because I know that smell.
The scent.
It is moldy, asbestos like
As it sits on display. I know
This was a jacket. I know
It belonged to someone brave.
Glistening, rusty medals aside
A hero wore this. Now it follows
Me, as I lay here dying.
A bullet flows through me,
I bleed out.
Suddenly I wakeup
Now I’m in A Museum.
About this poem
I wrote this poem as a way to recognize that feeling when it comes to death at the cost of war. Some Soldiers are recognized and remembered for their talents, and some are lost and all but nearly forgotten by the public. Sometimes fragments are all that remain of those lost, only to collect dust in a museum. It’s both a political message and reminder to truly appreciate those sacrifices that are too often overlooked or overshadowed.
Written on October 06, 2023
Submitted by Downingc1 on November 05, 2023
- 35 sec read
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Quick analysis:
Scheme | X X A X X X X B B X X X A X X X X |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
Characters | 491 |
Words | 118 |
Stanzas | 17 |
Stanza Lengths | 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1 |
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"Museum" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/175448/museum>.
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