Memoirs of the sick

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Along the hallways of a hospital for the living

reeks of death

Young and the elderly, strong and weak sit

All snared in vulnerability

some await for loved ones who are never showing

Cacophony and reverberations carry along

Sobs, yells and moans

Through corridors you hear them call

aching breaking voices groaning,

No prayer for redemption

As I passed by, they stare

With their dry pale eyes

To some I was the grim reaper,

Or the angel of death

There’s no option, but to take away the soul

From a rotting pathetic body

Untold stories to the grave

Lying on their beds

Open mouths and staring up

smelly mouth in death repose

Some do wander with dementia

With repeated words for forgiveness

To themselves as they focus

waiting for death, and nothing else

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