Hospital Poem by James McLain

It is moody dark alive the shadows cast the windows barred
each image drawn to death each inmate seems to move
not very far
as one or two they sit above a ledge above black water.
There is one Doctor and a Nurse.
The hospital in itself is long it's round and large,
and yes it opens at the top.
Scattered bout around the wall in piles are rotting clothes.
Crusty walls that bleed and weep cold granite corridors,
of the many whom in day's long past
as patients on those stretchers that were white are now quite black.
Rodents blood red tics and fleas why illness loves a breeze.
Shuffling as the two move past there eyes are wide awake.
No bandages here or soap before they came as others made their cots.
Time has no true name it's worth they all will have to pay.
That look of shock upon each face without a voice or sound
and out of reach and pain racked body bent into such Grace.
While the number of the limbs are stacked like wood before a fire.
There is no need to ration out the salty putrid water.
Formaldehyde that stench it fills the moist and humid air.
Soiled sheets are never washed there is no end of man made pain.
That nurse collects past debts with her quick hand and milk blue bottles.
Not many soldiers knew such dreams suffered at the hands of youth.
While they were dying from blood loss his disease the Doctor spread.