Shut away from public view
behind high walls and landscaped gardens,
Antiseptic wards where beds
have strong restraints, and none are pardoned.
Seldom are the inmates given
visits by their family members,
those that have forgotten kinfolk
cling to life like dying embers.
Who would wish to see some brother,
giggling, imbecilic, drooling?
Who would wish to see some sister,
***** round her ankles pooling?
Then there are the psychopaths,
the freaks deformed, and those possessed;
sedatives and exorcism
pacify the most distressed.
When the sun goes down no shadows
lengthen in stark corridors.
Never-winking neon tubes
ensure that light’s forever yours.
Even so when night has fallen
always come the sounds of Hell.
Slamming doors and running footsteps,
screams and shouts - a tolling bell.
Lost souls roaming empty stairways,
disembodied spirits howling.
Bodies stiff with medication
twitch whilst cotton sheets be-fouling.
And when dawn returns to shine
upon this Godforsaken phylum,
Nature wipes a tearful eye
and grieves for mankind’s bleak asylum.