The Disease Without a Cure

Today I searched for inspiration

Amongst uniform lines,

And untainted grass,

Mown, again,

In uniform lines.

.

I searched for inspiration

In the minds of the brightest

And best of our generation –

Apparently.

.

Today I searched for inspiration

In a pristine hall,

In pristine corridors,

In a pristine white wall.

I found none.

.

I found plenty of knowledge,

Order and devotion;

I found monoliths of brick,

Devoid of emotion.

.

But there was nothing in the beauty

Of that place's order –

There was nothing in its history,

In its presence,

In its heritage or its wealth,

To inspire me.

.

My brain felt numbed –

As clean and clear

As my surroundings.

And as uninteresting.

.

And now I realise that perhaps,

Inspiration is not always to be found in beauty,

In the best and brightest,

Or in uniform lines.

.

It is to be found in chaos,

In the filthiness of ignorance,

And the lack of eloquence

Of the masses.

.

It is to be found in a haven

Where true souls live –

Messy and corrupted,

Imperfect and impure;

In humanity's insanity –

The disease without a cure.