The Abandoned Asylum

by John Grey

Wind pierces the gaps in brick,

the cracks in windows.

The patients, nurses, doctors, have long gone.

The current occupant is presence.

It was closed for lack of funds

is the usual story.

But some say

shuttered because its cures

were much too cruel,

that the screams of patients can still be heard

in its drab rooms,

down empty corridors.

There’s some who worked there

still alive

but they bite their tongues

when questioned.

To commune with the inmates,

I suggest visiting

the overgrown graveyard out back.

 At night,

it’s like a mausoleum,

but one where the dead get to live.

Stand outside its rusty gate,

and I swear

you can hear a wolf howl

though there’s none of those beasts

east of the Appalachians.

Young kids dare each other

to peek inside.

Their older siblings

sometimes sneak in there

for beer parties.

All will swear they can feel something

within those walls,

that’s unearthly, haunting,

yet melancholy, despairing even.

It’s a sick building all right.

It needs to see a doctor.

Just not the kind who used to work there.