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.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Halfway House (dedicated to Lynne FincherSpringGarden) by Owain Glyn )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings