Galleries

Where do you store your most private treasures?

Galleries

Echoes only answer
When you shout out, call their name
In the loneliest of spaces
Its the faces that remain
In the sacred of the silence
Haloed, hallowed, hung in halls
The portraits in their landscapes
Such temples hold their thralls
In galleries we hoard them
Stored by armoured guard
Patrolled routinely, vacuums
In such silence, listened hard
For an utterance, a murmur
A heartbeat, pulse... a sign
A prompt that prompts unprompted
A reason for the rhyme
For the import placed upon these,
these pieces held so dear
So mute in shadowed caverns
So silent in our fear
That the intrigue flows but one way
To such sculptures, scriptures... art
With critique sounding of the walls
So biased on our part
Impartial's how we play it
At least that's what we try
and though we dare not say it
The ones who know us sigh
All too aware of caverns,
in the hollows of our souls
Where we hang our greatest passions,
in the galleries we hold
A sacred antechamber
Where our pieces perish, thrive,
with echoes lost in spaces,
and fond faces found... survived