White cycladic figures honour <br /> shelves of glass, museum-trapped <br />anaconic faces shaping <br /> stillness progress threw away <br />craving colour, noise, discarding <br /> simple gestures, gentle words. <br />Now, outside the huge museum, <br /> traffic rumbles, ashes fall, <br />posters shriek of death and passion, <br /> garish features glossed with paint, <br />yet the faceless shining figures <br /> poised behind the polished glass <br />radiate a stronger passion <br /> unified by time and space <br />praising earth and sky and ocean, <br /> folding flame in cradling arms, <br />nameless, knowing every human <br /> name and need and sharing all.<br /><br />Robin Skelton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-museum/
