Treasure Island

Owain Glyn

Halfway House (dedicated to Lynne FincherSpringGarden)

Tired, soulless, vacant eyes,
Anonymous, below dark skies.
Stare silently, through grimy glass,
As minutes, hours, and days, just pass.

Tattered armchairs, soaked in pain,
Shelter, whispered prayers, in vain.
Shuffling steps, in ghastly halls,
Are muffled by the bloodstained walls.

There is no sign, or breath, of hope,
For these poor souls, who fail to cope.
Just whisky days, and wine fueled nights,
To dull the glare of demon lights.

Throughout this sad and soulful place,
I see no sign, of God's good grace.
As if the inmates realize,
This is the road, to their demise.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Submitted: Sunday, May 26, 2013
Edited: Friday, September 06, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

A view of the atmosphere and residents of a halfway house.

Owain Glyn

Comments about this poem (Halfway House (dedicated to Lynne FincherSpringGarden) by Owain Glyn )

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  • Danny Draper (6/17/2013 7:05:00 AM)

    A good poem that highlights the halfway the limbo of forwards or back, teetering on the precipice, but ultimately weathered down to base parts and disappears. (Report) Reply

  • Lynne Fincherspringarden (5/29/2013 11:31:00 AM)

    You have captured the sights and sounds and feelings of those old broken down hotels where lost souls in modern day society end up spending their last days. Having seen better days and in some cases having lost families they now wait in hopelessness. Many of them sadly are war vets who gave the best of themselves to fight for honor and country. Sadly they return broke and remain life long war casualties. Great portrayal of these sad places Owain. Hope the guys at the Yale know they were never completely forgotten.
    Our poetry is a olive branch of compassion extended toward the lost souls of society. (Report) Reply

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