memoirs of the sick 

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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