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Ode to Art Museums

The most intimate way to experience history

Is through the stories of old preserved on oil

Through the lives locked behind gold-chipped frames.

In every brush stroke is a truth veiled in mystery

Engaged with my eyes in a quiet discourse.


Magnificent marble lines the checkered-floored halls

Where one finds herself completely surrounded yet utterly alone

In a silence so impenetrable even the floorboards dare creak.

The passing names of deceased serve as a reminder that to be remembered is futile

But to create something worth remembering may just be essential. 
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