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Nov 2016
Here once they would
have been locked up,
have sat rocking back

and forth, drooling into
their hands. Have looked
from this same window

where now you stand
looking out at the asylum
grounds. The place now

abandoned to its ruin like
those who were once
imprisoned here. There

is a smell about the place,
smell of sadness and pus
and *****, and echoes

of those crying out in
anguish, gazing once
where you now gaze,

seeing the same sun
and moon, eating away
their days with the same

spoon, same poor food.
You see the grounds,
overgrow weeds, bushes

overgrown. You there
staring out at the view alone.
Terry Collett
Written by
Terry Collett  73/M/England
     Rose, Pradip Chattopadhyay, bex and Ovi-Odiete
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