corridors

Angels in the Hospital

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

don’t sleep, silent angels glide on feathered feet
in this place of many doors
those of us who blame the gods are only unaware
of angels standing at our backs when we are in despair
silent angels glide on feathered feet

don’t sleep, silent angels glide on feathered feet
with all the instruments laid out bare
theatres ready, scrubbed to white,
as lives drift in and out of light
silent angels glide on feathered feet

don’t sleep, silent angels glide on feathered feet
the anxious sad relations sip their cups of tea
the chapel here is open, silent, day or night
to catholics and atheists and sinners, all alike
silent angels glide on feathered feet

don’t sleep, silent angels glide on feathered feet
down the low lit corridors
the trolleys come and go
with patients comatose
silent angels glide on feathered feet

don’t sleep, silent angels glide on feathered feet
the final door awaits us all
some of us must morn
and babies will be born
silent angels glide on feathered feet

Corridors

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

so accustomed to hospital corridors,
the creams, gentle blue, pale greens
that define and encompass my days,
the outside world, full of colour, no longer seems real
am i even here?
nothing is clear
the light and the cold and the roads I pass through
are only ways and directions to you
where you lay in your bed speaking strangely
muttering in distant places, one hand in another world

you passed through a door and don’t know it
I watched your determined and turbulent ride
you returned to this other side
i feel sorrow but never show it
you are not really here any more
my heart is an empty void
the well is too deep
i sit here beside you
not who I want to be
not hidden
but partially dead inside
– this waiting is killing me