The Bone and Ivory Door of Parnassus

In this dream
I am dead
And my life is commemorated
in this museum
The Museum of Incomplete Intentions

And it’s a free admission affair
Open to the public
Open to the Wind
Open 24/7

Actually the whole Victorian motif is a bit much
And God
Is the door massive

I don’t recognize the guard
But he lets me pass without comment
I turn back and ask where all the poetry
is displayed
He humrfs in a manner that indicates
He’d rather be somewhere watching a football
But he jerks a thumb toward the gift shop

And there it all is
All the poetry I’ll ever write
Silenced . . .
Pressed between virgin white pages

I dig in my pocket for change

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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