Large, heavy, wooden, daunting doors <br />loom before my eyes as I enter. <br />An empty side office, reception <br />with old fashioned filing cabinets, <br />dark now, glass shutters, closed. <br />Another heavy door in front of me, <br />this one leads to a wide, cold floored corridor. <br />I baulk, want to turn heel, go home. <br /> <br />The black and white tiling, lofty ceiling, <br />does nothing but repulse me. <br />More heavy, locked doors <br />with tiny, peep hole windows, all barred. <br />Screaming, faint screaming echoes, <br />ghost like, as it drifts towards me <br />gradually getting louder. <br />I reach a wide, stone staircase. <br /> <br />Everything's locked and bolted, <br />no one passes and the screaming echoes. <br />Asylums, those old mental hospitals, <br />where we still send the forgotten <br />to live out their lives and rot. <br />You wouldn't ever call this home <br />and the world outside rolls on <br />as the traffic drifts by.<br /><br />Ruth Walters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hospital-5/
