Poetry from a Broken Heart

Hate this Place

HATE THIS PLACE

Straight and crowded are lined the walls of white decay

Through sickness and in health do we too stand here and wait

For better or worse, the latter seeming only to often

Silent and still, crowded and hushed, another wheeled by

Black demons stand shoulder to shoulder with empty hearts

Muttering those words which lift the uncompleted soul away

We think these places are here for help, not for sadness

But littering this country, there they stand, never empty