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 –



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.