Museum
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.
Someone who had courage
And wore the Medal of Honor
Glistening, rusty medals aside
A hero wore this. Now it follows
Me, as I lay here dying.
Planes are flying overhead
A single bullet flows through me,
I fall to my feet
I bleed out.
I gasp for air and take
My last breath. I sleep
Suddenly I wakeup
Now I’m in A Museum.
About this poem
This poem is about how the cost of war creates a reason for historic remembrance and how someone’s death whether or not we know who they are becomes nothing more than a piece in a museum. Allow this piece to become a part in a museum and reflect on how you view pieces that are displayed at a museum. Imagine a persons life and put yourself in their shoes the next time you see a piece of armor, or someone’s old tattered uniform.
Written on January 27, 2024
Submitted by Downingc1 on January 27, 2024
- 48 sec read
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Quick analysis:
Scheme | X X A X X X X B B X X X X X A X X X X X X X X |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
Characters | 663 |
Words | 162 |
Stanzas | 23 |
Stanza Lengths | 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1 |
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Citation
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"Museum" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/180406/museum>.
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