Doors moan like lovers, as compassion flows
like sick over scrubbed floors.
Controlled circumstance of pity,
corridor shufflers look lost as refugees,
concerned and clumsy with frames,
bags of black blood follow them like pets.
(They are not allowed to find sleep in the ground,
under air and pine needles) .
A place of decay under pastel, a maze for
Jesus the daughter of God, for ghosts and unlikely saints.
Let them go softly into the night.
Let them pass through the thick window glass
to where the others are.
Leslie, I am getting addicted to your work. I love your writing style. Great piece of art! !
I like these lines, 'Let them go softly into the night. Let them pass through the thick window glass' and the whole of this Poem.
even though this sounds realistic, the way you write gives me a scandinavian art image which I really like. my heart becomes quiet when I read this.
Utterly prosaic only redeming factor last stanza. As to whom I may offend I could care less. As for street language I take it you have not read Chaucer. Take your limited mind and shove it sweetie
This has a gentle melancholy and a graceful mercy that ultimate release of death can possibly only achieve.
I Like this poem because it makes us remembering a suffering place...and especially the title ' Hospital ' it makes me remember that i live in a big psychiatric hospital called; Algeria! ! ! ....thank you
The way you present this poem is very realistic. It gives me an image of what a hospital is like, and I must say it is very impressive. You are a good writer, and you present your poem very well. I enjoyed reading this, and good job.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice poem well written...Good very good