Parthenon Marbles

I am busy revising and editing some of the worst writings that exist. I hope this poem is improved and worth the trouble for your read.

Parthenon Marbles,

Stones carved so long ago,

painted in bright colours

so lifelike you know.

Not polished to gleaming white.

Renaissance copies were like that.

They thought that was right.

Those Ancient Romans took what they wanted

without giving back.

Enslaved the wise and killed

Whomever they might.

They took the knowledge

And claimed it, rearranged it.

All to do with power, and ruling light.

The gaining of people's minds,

For control and domination

Of the Imperial Nation.

Sound familiar?

Old overtaken by the new,

morphed and changed,

but really still the same

Only with different names?

Yes, they changed those more ancient gods

Those Romans of ancient times

Claimed them as their own creations

So they could rule over all nations.

History repeated down through time

As one Nation rises and another falls

Humanities spoils of domination

So the loser be forgotten and lost to obliteration.

But tell me why?

The Parthenon from its pride of place,

Still sits in judgement of the Human Race?

What have you done to my city?

What have you done to me?

And you little people what right

did you have to ruin my decorations?

Now Britain claims,

those old carved stones.

Mother England tells the world

that they need to stay for all

to see how great, she is in keeping

the Parthenon in pieces

As artefacts of ancient knowledge of Greece.

The guardian? Does she really believe this still?

In this age of internet mass information,

That she can claim to stand alone in keeping history

As her right to have and hold,

Really, this is what is being told?

Housed in the dark cold northern halls.

Regardless of the common calls

Of reunification of these stones

They sit alone, so alone in unnatural light.

No longer able to tell their full story that is only right.

Unfortunately, they stay separated

and out of context as if each piece is somehow

in solitary confinement for two hundred years, and now

condemned for the sins of our ancestors we are cursed.

To call out to the universe, "Return Them!

But their beauty is proclaimed,

Greece paid for castes to be taken of their own culture

Those copies sit at the Acropolis in place

of these lost stones. Ghosts of our collective past haunt them

Yes, they now sit in their place

of pride at the Acropolis.

Castes of those missing parts.

Displayed, in the light

of the Mediterranean sun.

Next to the originals still on Greek soil

And not part of imperial spoils.

Warm and aged in honey coloured beauty.

Yes, these old carved stones tell a different story.

One of togetherness, and celebration,

But also a statement of separation.

Because most are still housed

At the British Museum

Weeping in solitary confinement.

So our furry is aroused

And collectively we shout in condemnation.

Return the Culture to the Greek Nation

No longer can you claim them!

/v