The door opened and the guide whispered us in
So as not to wake these pampered stones from sleeping
We complied –
Cowed by brass lions
Overcome by intricately carved columns
Hardly daring to step from our shadow
Into gilded light
‘Take no photographs’
I wondered why?
Might each impudent proletarian pixel
Pick away the privilege from these old walls?
Might the old masters be blinded in a flash?
So we shuffled like deep sea divers
Following monotone stories of accumulation
Despite my love of the shape of things, I found myself repelled
This was never a home
It was a machine that enslaved people
Every stone was stolen