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Through the white halls the ghosts slip;
crossing past plastic chairs, hissing sharp sibilants.
Sterile stares, superstitious and blue,
for the sick and the pale's mid-death prayers won't come true.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
First draft:

Through the white halls the ghosts are slipping
crossing past plastic chairs, hissing sharp sibilants
and relishing off the shivering goose-bumps;
the superstitious prayers of the sick, mid-death.
©2009 `leoraigarath
:iconleoraigarath:

Author's Comments

NaPoWrimo 2009 - #26

I do not like hospitals, the sterile smell in the air reminds me of memories I’d rather not remember. At the same time I can’t really remember, I mean, those are not things that I can clearly see, but more of fractures of pieces of memories, a short glimpse of a sight, a curtain, a face, a moment. I’d always figured that maybe the halls are packed with ghosts, short memory ghosts, shells of humanity scratching at the fabric of reality.


24.6.09 - Edit:
Changed the tempo/rhythm to a more fixed structure based on syllables. I wonder what feelings does the two versions bring up, tell me what you thought and felt, what you liked and why. Thanks.

Comments


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:iconscarletwave:
I have a love/hate for this. I feel the same way about hospitals. This poem makes me feel vulnerable.

--
It's that terrifying place where loneliness itself will make her forget how to smile...
:iconthebloodwriter:
Very nice word, sibilant. And the phrase mid-death is chilling.

--
"We're Actors- We're the opposite of people."

Tom Stoppard
:iconelmara:
i've been bloody studying inside a hospital for the past two years (screwy college design, honestly) and every day it gets worse for me. :cries: your poem was horribly evocative. :fear:

--
what we choose is never what we really need


*VampireWriters|=PoetryPlease|*Writers-Workshop|=ScribeSanctuary
:iconobscurae:
thats exactly how I see hospitals, you paint a picture in my mind with your words.
:iconleoraigarath:
:( :hug: don't worry, things get better, they always do. I hope that those studies do good to you, and I hope that you are OK there :nod: :hug:

--
Some days I write those words, others they write me.

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April 30
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