Born inside a museum
we gazed around with voracious eyes
as we began to open the display cases,
savoring ancient delicacies.
“there is more in the back” – someone shouted.
But each new generation forgot
about the deeds of the previous one.
Each new herd of our kin ignored
what the museum used to look like,
as we began eating the pedestals
chewing on the wallpaper
digesting bricks and mortar in savage abandon,
until there was nothing left
but us.
Bankrupted and vacant
like a constellation of seashells
randomly regurgitated by the storm,
we waited for the next wave to pummel us,
scatter our ashes in the salty mist
and replace us
with a new breed.
George is an author, researcher, podcaster, chemist, molecular biologist and food scientist. You can follow him on Twitter @99blackbaloons , listen to his Spotify podcast George reads George, join his mailing list, or enjoy his books
George Tsakraklides 
But each new generation forgot
about the deeds of the previous one.
Each new herd of our kin ignored
what the museum used to look like, I’ve discussed this with so many people on various topics. What the hell happened? Weren’t these lesson’s, these bits of knowledge that were supposed to have been built upon by future generations, supposed to be passed down? I find young people these days trying to decipher the same information we worked so hard to unravel, knowing that future generations would benefit and build upon the work we started. What the hell happened. Well, in a word….nothing. Sad.
thank you, George, so much for your poetry, as it fulfills the important function of getting us in touch with our sadness and grief and giving us a chance to work through them so as to transform them into action