Amongst a room of dirt.
Humans wander its isles but don’t see the
Diamonds and rubies and emeralds
That sit on the rocks just under
Clothing made from the gods.
Dishes used by the stars.
Manuscripts written by scholars.
They all sit in plain sight,
On display to be taken
But the ignorance continues on
And looks at the the never-before-seen
metal that produces coffee
And the fabric used for sitting.
But they have no warn qualities
No stories in the creases or
Memories in the stains.