This Poem really means alot to me and comments would be fantastic
il return!
x
Floor Number Eight, thats Two Up From Ground Floor Six.
We Wonder Through The Endless White Washed Walls,
Corridors. They All Look The Same.
A Place of Life, Yet Also Death.
I Wasn't Sure What Tunnel I was walking though.
What Light I was walking to wards. Ward B.
Four Beds to a Room. A Room of four beds
Life's hanging on by threads
My eyes wonder, its the same in every corner.
Floor Eight, Ward B, Bed One
The place in which the battles begun
I wondered, are these places supposed to feel like home?
Theres No Fireplace, No Coffee Table Set
No Table, no Chairs in which friends met
I don't see a Fridge, filled with fresh food
No smell in the air, no veg just stewed
Theres a clock, white it blends with the walls
Silent it hangs, no chime does it call
Floor Eight, Ward B, Bed One, Patient 3075
A Number, A Band On Your Arm
A button to press, a house alarm
She sits there silent, half the person
Half the spirit, half the woman.
I wondered, are these places
Supposed to feel
Just Like Home..
