Er At Shands

In there eyes,littering the place Like trash, I see the direlects, trace The broken shards of faith scattered Across lobby, waiting out the futility Of their unmiracled lives. Stuttered Hope looks at me, another disability Coming to this Siloam where no angel fly. Money buys no life, but without it we die In the very presence of the medicine in These emergency rooms carcassed with sin. Dying to get well We live between the pain of death And the despair of hell. The wait, undurable, spawns sunset to sunset and chasm between. The eyes Closed, resigned to the fate that denies Man a creed That life against all odds must succeed.