The Hospital
Large, heavy, wooden, daunting doors
loom before my eyes as I enter.
An empty side office, reception
with old fashioned filing cabinets,
dark now, glass shutters, closed.
Another heavy door in front of me,
this one leads to a wide, cold floored corridor.
I baulk, want to turn heel, go home.
The black and white tiling, lofty ceiling,
does nothing but repulse me.
More heavy, locked doors
with tiny, peep hole windows, all barred.
Screaming, faint screaming echoes,
ghost like, as it drifts towards me
gradually getting louder.
I reach a wide, stone staircase.
Everything's locked and bolted,
no one passes and the screaming echoes.
Asylums, those old mental hospitals,
where we still send the forgotten
to live out their lives and rot.
You wouldn't ever call this home
and the world outside rolls on
as the traffic drifts by.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Everynight I Wake Up Screaming
If it's all a magnificent mistake
There goes the universe and it's order
I was dreaming wide awake
When something pulled me under the water
(Breathe) I can't surface I
(Breathe) Its in my fear
(Breathe) And I can't stop it
(Breathe) I can't, I can't breathe
(Breathe) I'm choking
(Breathe) And I don't want to sleep
Everynight I wake up screaming
We're the last tribe
as the world stops turning
Everynight I wake up screaming
My car crash isn't far from here
And everything looks better
with my eyes closed
Everything looks better
with my eyes closed
There's a terrorist somewhere
With my name on a bullet he's loading
There's a meteor out there
With the world in it's sights
and it's closing
Everynight I wake up screaming
We're the last you and me
as the world stops turning
Everynight I wake up screaming
The end of everything's very near
Everything looks better
with my eyes closed
Everything looks better
with my eyes closed
Everynight I wake up screaming
I'm the last man
as the world stops turning
Everynight I wake up screaming
Dreaming that I'm blind again
And everything looks better
with my eyes closed
Everything looks better
with my eyes closed
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gray Fog
A FOG drifts in, the heavy laden
Cold white ghost of the sea—
One by one the hills go out,
The road and the pepper-tree.
I watch the fog float in at the window
With the whole world gone blind,
Everything, even my longing, drowses,
Even the thoughts in my mind.
I put my head on my hands before me,
There is nothing left to be done or said,
There is nothing to hope for, I am tired,
And heavy as the dead.
poem by Sara Teasdale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Attempted Escape.
Each morning Tess waited nervously
for the nursing officer to arrive on
the locked ward, and spot on time
each morning he came with his small
black briefcase and went to his office
on the locked ward of the asylum, and
after a few minutes she was allowed
in for her daily requested interview.
She sat in the chair opposite him, he
fresh from the sane world, sat there
with his brushed teeth and groomed
hair, intent look behind his glasses.
When can I get out of his ward and
home? she asked him each morning;
when we consider you are ready and
safe to be let out, he replied each day
with the same calm voice, the same
deep tones. And off she'd go to begin
another day with those whom she
considered mad or seemingly dead.
Every day at the same time they would
bring along the meals from the kitchen;
they would unlock the double doors,
bring in the trays of meals from a trolley,
leave the doors unattended for the time
it took to bring in the trays, and then
locked the doors again. Tess waited and
watched every time they came timing
by the clock on the wall how long it took
and how long the doors were unlocked.
This day she waited; time ticked slowly,
as she stood in her dressing gown by the
doorway to the bedrooms and watched
as they unlocked the thick double doors.
She waited until they unlocked the doors
and entered with the first of the trays,
then she ran like one possessed, out of
the doors and along the corridors and
heard the commotion behind her as she
ran, and the shouting and screaming and
calls, and the thundering footsteps behind
and then two burly male nurses tackled
her to the ground and held her there
beneath their mass and smelly breath,
seeing the lights on the ceiling flicker on
and off, not far away a woman screamed,
nearby she heard a man's rough cough.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Earth Dies Screaming
A warm dry wind is all that breaks the silence,
The highways quiet scars across the land.
People lie, eyes closed, no longer dreaming,
The earth dies screaming.
Like scattered pebbles, cars lie silent waiting,
Oilless engines seized by dirt and sand.
Bodies hanging limp, no longer bleeding,
The earth dies screaming.
The earth dies screaming
The earth dies screaming
Your country needs you, lets strike up the band.
The earth dies screaming
The earth dies screaming
Despite all odds we must defend our land.
Half eaten meals lie rotting on the tables,
Money clutched within a boney hand.
Shutters down, the banks are not receiving,
The earth dies screaming.
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Welcome Home
I go outside to find the middle of nowhere
Everyone needs their own empty stage
Just like the sky with no beginning or ending
I like reading a book without a last page
Stop and turn around
And say it with your eyes closed
You don't need to welcome me home
Stop, turn around
Try looking with your eyes wide open
As we live our lives through a series of glances
And you smile without smiling for a whole another year
I think we need a little bit more understanding
I think the future is already here
So I won't ask you to
Stop and turn around
And say it with your eyes closed
You don't need to welcome me home
Stop, turn around
Try looking with your eyes wide open
Welcome home
Welcome home
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Dark Dreams
I'm in the dark
And I'm lost
In my mind, screaming
Through the empty
Space, filled with no light
All I hear is my echo
I listen and hear the echo
Of silent breaking through the dark
Nothingness that consumes any light
That I don't see, in this lost
Place of empty
Dreaming, in which I scream
Soon as it stops, the screaming
High painful cry, and the echo
Fades, leaving me again in the empty
Hallow thoughts of my dark
Sleep, and wander through my mind lost
Of what I had, it was my light
What I had was like a warm light
That held me from the bitter screaming
Of the cold, it found me when I was lost
It covered me like a blanket, and echoed
Through my soul, with it I was never in the dark
And never left empty
Now, in my sleep, I am empty
The warm blanket of hte light
No longer holds me, but exposes me to the dark
And painful piercing screams
Of my own voice echoing
In my nightmares of what I've lost
I am lost
In the emptiness
Of my own pain, that echoes
Through me, and all I want again is the light
For it I scream
In my dreams, but all I get in the dark
I dream of the dark and I'm lost
My screaming is only heard by the empty
Space in my mind, where light shined, but there is only echo.
poem by Nicole Hiebing
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Holy Russia
The door creaks, as she opens it
and the fall of the heavy iron latch
echoes through the empty church.
The atmosphere inside, this cold cold day,
is heavy, as such holy places are;
locked now at night; heavy,
with what? Anticipation; presence; memory
of all the human emotions
that have passed through them?
There’s still the clinging promise,
the fragrance of yesterday’s incense;
it could be a midnight cedar forest
in its dark wood-scented mystery.
She lights a candle, drops a coin
slowly, as those do to whom
each coin has a meaning.
She is small, shrunken as the aged are,
wrapped into roundness against the cold,
yet neatly; today there’s an extra sense of purpose
about her walk towards the glittering
gold ikonostasis –
is it the anniversary of the day
her husband perished in the labour camp?
Or the day her son died fighting
so that such as she might live,
to mourn him, proudly, all her life?
Or was she, is she, that unmarried, once famous
junior lecturer who lost her job
for speaking truth, whose students
carried her shoulder-high and placed her
on the tank outside the university,
challenging its gun?
She kneels in front of the ancient ikon,
thick with gold; the ikon that tourists
note with brief glance as ‘Christ’…though when painted,
it was known as ‘Son of God’; now they call it
‘Son of Man’ – that seems to suit it.
She looks intently into His eyes
as she has so many times; each time,
a new day, asking what He has in store for her;
asks as intently as its painter: praying as he worked,
that He might come and fill the painted form
with His eyes, His heart, His soul; all that He brought to earth
from That which sent Him…
She looks into the eyes of the ikon –
or does the ikon look at her?
In some other world, there is mighty sound,
perhaps a word; the air is filled with soundlessness;
there’s fire that burns forever; great waters flow
like grace itself; new earth is watered.
She sees, in some great where between
herself and all things, love that cannot be measured;
mercy that can only explain itself with itself;
grace that’s only to be known; her heart
opens itself to her soundlessly;
all is revealed to the seeking heart.
The candles flicker in the draught; the door creaks,
and the heavy iron latch echoes
once, in the empty church; the Son of Man,
as an old woman, wrapped against the cold,
steps out into His kingdom. A few snowflakes;
a pale winter sun. But look into His eyes.
*
(revised)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Behind closed doors
Doors made of steel
others made of wood
life going on behind them
things that are bad and good.
Doors that are always closed
while some are forever open wide
behind doors can lie secrets
and where people can go to hide.
A door opened to a new future
another one blocking your way
families at war behind the door
but where children can happily play.
Prisoners locked in behind solid doors
waiting for the key to turn in the lock
as lonely people sit in their homes
waiting for someone just to knock.
The doors of Gold created in Heaven
only opened for the chosen few
behind them lies an eternal life
but will they open for me or you?
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Doors Are Locked
From inside of this room
I shall not exit
I have locked the doors
To the world outside.
It does not matter to me what is happening outside, because
Behind these locked doors
Is the world that I live in,
This land of my dreams that
I have fabricated for myself alone.
I recall my father recently reading me a story-
Of a woman who created a world within her dreams-
There she lived and locked herself
Inside of the doors that
Barred her from all that is real.
My father's hope was that
I would find my way out from
This place he called the land of my delusions.
This place which he calls the land of my delusions has become
My only veracity.
From the inside of this room
I shall not exit-it is here I safely converse with
The voices inside of my mind.
The doors to this room are locked, but
I can still hear my mother weeping, and
I hear my mother cry out from the midst of her tears-
What has become of my only child?
Inside of this room, I have constructed a world.
The doors are locked and
I have shut reality out-
The doors to my room are locked and
I have lost the key.
My mother is still weeping as her one and only
Has lost the key that would open the doors
To the world outside-
My mother is sobbing; the key is lost and alas-
Her only child's sanity has also been lost.
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Am I Needing This?
I am not those dark days lived.
To perform an existing within shadows.
I am not,
One who sits comfortably...
Fixed to fears,
Of my own image appearing...
On walls that I visit forelorned.
I can not accept a misery imposed upon me.
I can not accept...
My own reflection hinting with signs of neglect.
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I am the light that brightly shines...
Beyond closed and locked doors,
My mind has been convinced...
I'm needing more to restrict my addictions.
I'm needing more of this...
To keep and explore!
'I am not those dark days lived',
I say.
'I am not that one existing,
Within the restriction of shadows.'
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I live beyond closed and locked doors!
And yet I am a victim,
Of my own self inflicting addictions.
Why am I needing this...
To keep adventured and explored?
'Why am I needing this?
Why from it I just can't quit? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The eyes of the ikon
The door creaks as she opens it
and the fall of the heavy iron latch
echoes through the empty church.
The atmosphere inside, this cold day,
is heavy, as such holy places are,
locked now at night; heavy,
with what? Anticipation? Memory,
of all the human emotions
that have passed through them?
There’s still the clinging promise,
the fragrance of yesterday’s incense;
it could almost be a midnight forest
in its wood-scented mystery.
She lights a candle, drops a coin
slowly, as those do to whom
each coin has a meaning.
She is small, shrunken as the aged are,
wrapped into roundness against the cold,
yet neatly; today there’s an extra sense of purpose
about her walk towards the glittering
gold ikonostasis –
is it the anniversary of the day
her husband perished in the labour camp?
Or the day her son died fighting
so that such as she might live,
to mourn him, proudly, all her life?
Or was she, is she, that unmarried, famous
junior lecturer who lost her job
for speaking truth, whose students
carried her shoulder-high and placed her
on the tank outside the university,
challenging its gun?
She kneels in front of the ancient ikon,
framed in gold; the ikon that tourists
note with a glance, as ‘Christ’…though when painted,
it was known as ‘Son of God’; now they call it
‘Son of Man’ – that seems to suit it.
She looks intently into its eyes
as she has so many times; each time,
a new day, asking what He has in store for her.
As intently as its painter, praying as he worked,
that He might come and fill the painted form
with His eyes, His heart, His soul; all that He brought to earth
from That which sent Him…
She looks into the eyes of the ikon –
or does the ikon look at her?
In some other world, there is mighty sound,
perhaps a word; the air is filled with soundlessness;
there’s fire that burns forever; great waters flow
like grace itself; new earth is watered.
She sees, in some great where between
herself and all things, love that cannot be measured;
mercy that can only explain itself with itself;
grace that’s only known; her life
opens itself to her clearly, soundlessly;
all is revealed to the seeking heart.
The candles flicker; the door creaks,
and the heavy iron latch echoes
once, in the empty church. The Son of Man
in the form of an old woman wrapped against the cold,
steps out into His kingdom. A few snowflakes;
a pale winter sun. Look into her eyes.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ikon
The door creaks, as she opens it
and the fall of the heavy iron latch
echoes through the empty church.
The atmosphere inside, this cold day,
is heavy, as such holy places are,
locked now at night; heavy,
with what? Anticipation? Memory,
of all the human emotions
that have passed through them?
There’s still the clinging promise,
the fragrance of yesterday’s incense;
it could almost be a midnight forest
in its wood-scented mystery.
She lights a candle, drops a coin
slowly, as those do to whom
each coin has a meaning.
She is small, shrunken as the aged are,
wrapped into roundness against the cold,
yet neatly; today there’s an extra sense of purpose
about her walk towards the glittering
gold ikonostasis –
is it the anniversary of the day
her husband perished in the labour camp?
Or the day her son died fighting
so that such as she might live,
to mourn him, proudly, all her life?
Or was she, is she, that unmarried, famous
junior lecturer who lost her job
for speaking truth, whose students
carried her shoulder-high and placed her
on the tank outside the university,
challenging its gun?
She kneels in front of the ancient ikon,
framed in gold; the ikon that tourists
note with a glance, as ‘Christ’…though when painted,
it was known as ‘Son of God’; now they call it
‘Son of Man’ – that seems to suit it.
She looks intently into its eyes
as she has so many times; each time,
a new day, asking what He has in store for her.
As intently as its painter, praying as he worked,
that He might come and fill the painted form
with His eyes, His heart, His soul; all that He brought to earth
from That which sent Him…
She looks into the eyes of the ikon –
or does the ikon look at her?
In some other world, there is mighty sound,
perhaps a word; the air is filled with soundlessness;
there’s fire that burns forever; great waters flow
like grace itself; new earth is watered.
She sees, in some great where between
herself and all things, love that cannot be measured;
mercy that can only explain itself with itself;
grace that’s only known; her life
opens itself to her clearly, soundlessly;
all is revealed to the seeking heart.
The candles flicker; the door creaks,
and the heavy iron latch echoes
once, in the empty church; the Son of Man,
in the form of an old woman wrapped against the cold,
steps out into His kingdom. A few snowflakes;
a pale winter sun. But look into her eyes.
[revised]
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Screaming Through December
What a crew we made up there was faustus
Burnt out from playing too many bars, on a jersey shore
And sammy, almost bald from ironing her hair too much
Back in 64
And me and phazon out of phase, of least my temporary
Name for the day
Oh, blown away and screaming
All blown away and screaming
All blown away and screaming thru december
We crossed state lines we were burning
Although the cold could freeze your hand, to the steel
Of the wheel
Miami, just a cold hearted word
From a warm smiling man on a sign in a field
We laughed just o take up some time my (hmmm) job
Was staring to dry, and we went screaming thru december
Quasar, quasar, where the first words I heard from faustas
All day
And giggling he apologized and then returned to flicking
His blade
I sighed bleary-eyed, and tried to remember the way, as we
Went screaming
A year does go by what a difference, twelve months can make when youre living a
Hundred years in one
And sammy, she went home and now shes living in a room with
A gun
Faustas ate glass for an appetizer, and bled all over his synthesizer
As he went screaming
As he went screaming
As he went screaming thru december
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Concrete Jungle
The beast roams the concrete jungle and trails of tarmac laid,
To prey on helpless victims that a deprived society raised.
Not for food to feed it’s young, who’s bellies empty are,
But for video’s and tellys or someone else’s car.
He stalks the night like cowards do
and with it’s blanket evil he doth strew,
He shies away from any light and surveys the concrete jungle.
We must keep our children young and sweet,
from the animals that roam our streets.
No more to roam our country side or local parks where evil hides,
No more our doors to open wide the welcome mat’s all locked inside.
Locked and bolted turn that key.
“FREE” no isolations me.
When authority apprehend do gooders him on holiday send,
Problem solved a miracle cure, for the beast that we call
“MAN”
t f nabbs
poem by Terence Nabbs
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Gods Made Heavy Metal
In the beginning there was silence and darkness
All across the earth
Then came the wind and a hole in the sky
Thunder and lightning came crashing down
Hit the earth and split the ground
Fire burned high in the sky
From down below fire melted the stone
The ground shook and started to pound
The gods made heavy metal and they saw that is was good
They said to play it louder than Hell
We promised that we would
When losers say it's over with you know that it's a lie
The gods made heavy metal and it's never gonna die
We are the true believers
It's our turn to show the world
In the fire of heavy metal we were burned
It's more than our religion it's the only way to live
But the enemies of metal we can't forgive
Cause we believe in the power and the might
And the gods who made metal are with us tonight
The gods made heavy metal and they saw that is was good
They said to play it louder than Hell
We promised that we would
When losers say it's over with you know that it's a lie
The gods made heavy metal and it's never gonna die
We believe in the power and the might
And the gods who made metal are with us tonight
We're here tonight for heavy metal are you ready in the hall
They have chosen us and we have heard the call
Gonna tear the roof off with our sound
Crack the walls and shake the ground
Fight tonight for metal one and all
Cause we believe in the power and the might
And the gods who made metal are with us tonight
The gods made heavy metal and they saw that is was good
They said to play it louder than Hell
We promised that we would
When losers say it's over with you know that it's a lie
The gods made heavy metal and it's never gonna die
song performed by by Manowar from Louder Than Hell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain Before Dawn
He dull, faint patter in the drooping hours
Drifts in upon my sleep and fills my hair
With damp; the burden of the heavy air
Is strewn upon me where my tired soul cowers,
Shrinking like some lone queen in empty towers
Dying. Blind with unrest I grow aware:
The pounding of broad wings drifts down the stair
And sates me like the heavy scent of flowers.
I lie upon my heart. My eyes like hands
Grip at the soggy pillow. Now the dawn
Tears from her wetted breast the splattered blouse
Of night; lead-eyed and moist she straggles o'er the lawn,
Between the curtains brooding stares and stands
Like some drenched swimmer -- Death's within the house!
poem by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Fading
[VERSE 1]
Every single night
As I walk alone
Down the empty streets
That I call my own
The rain is falling lightly
Resting on my head
The streets are cold and empty
The city lights are dead
A thunder clap is heard
In the brooding sky
The lightning flashes past
Lighting up my eyes
I see the broken skyline
Calling me to play
A savage voice is singing
I cant turn away
Through the empty building
To the hollow sound
Echoes in the darkness
Screaming all around
Lingering temptation
Followed close by death
I know your coming nearer
I can feel your breath
[END VERSE 1]
Save Me!
[CHORUS]
Running through the darkness
In an empty room
Running through the shadows
Of my living tomb
The lights are fading faster
Falling into ash
The PHANTOMS are returning
Screaming from my past
The thunder clap is passing
Crumbling away
With the sudden silence
I see the light of day
[END CHORUS]
[VERSE 2]
The light of dawn is coming
Rising in the morn
Giving me a shelter
From this voice of scorn
As the doors they open
I run into the day
The voice of shadow follows
It will not go away
The night of storm is chasing
Running at my heels
I try to awaken
This can not be real
Screaming at the shadows
Make this nightmare stop
I run out of the building
As the rain begins to drop
Finally it is over
Finally I am free
I am in the sunlight
The voice cant follow me
I still hear the whisper
Calling me to play
I will not be taken
So I turn away
[END VERSE 2]
[LAST STANZA OF CHORUS] 2x
song performed by by ZeroHour
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turn To Stone
The city streets are empty now the lights dont shine no more
And so the songs are way down low turning turning turning
A sound that flows into my mind the echoes of the daylight
Of everything that is alive in my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
The dying embers of the night a fire that slowly fades till dawn
Still glow upon the wall so bright burning burning burning
The tired streets that hide away from here to everywhere they go
Roll past my door into the day in my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Yes, Im turnin to stone cos you aint comin home.
Why you aint comin home if Im turnin to stone?
Youve been gone for so long and I cant carry on,
Yes, Im turnin, Im turnin, Im turnin to stone.
The dancing shadows on the wall the two-step in the hall
Are all I see since youve been gone turning turning turning
Through all I sit here and I wait I turn to stone I turn to stone
You will return again some day to my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heavy Heart
Heavy heart think of yesterday
And you're torn apart
Thinking of the ways it was easier to smile
More than today love grew wild
Heavy heart like a perfect stranger
You make it hard
Taking all the blame - still you hear the sound
Calling your name - troubles coming down
Too heavy
Turn it around
It's pressing me down
Heavy heart
This time I find
It weighs on my mind
Heavy heart
It's just like you to take it all so far
Then you feel abused and wonder who you are
Everything you've done - anything you start
Can turn and run
Ain't it true - it's only just a stage
Gotta give it room - start an empty page
Get back in the game - but do it your way
You don't have to play so heavy
Turn it around
It's pressing me down
Heavy heart
This time I find
It weighs on my mind
Heavy heart
When your heart is strong it leads you on
But when it breaks you
It devastates you for so long
Turn it around
It's pressing me down
Heavy heart
This time I find
It weighs on my mind
Heavy heart
Turn it around
It's pressing me down
Heavy heart
This time I find
It weighs on my mind
Heavy heart
song performed by by Heart from Passion Works
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Masters
At night in the dark of silence I hear the voices of the old masters.
I hear Homer reciting his odyssey.
I hear Edgar still screaming nevermore.
Gwendolyn voice echoes we so cool.
While Elizabeth is still counting the ways she loves Robert.
All the while Robert tells Elizabeth how she was his love in a life.
Out of the echoes of the night comes the voice of Shakespeare one of the greatest old masters comparing love to a summer's day,
and as I listen I hear dark but powerful Plath speaks of death.
Now as my eyes grow heavy like a lullaby in the night the voice
of Hughes puts me to sleep with his words of a river.