The Ward

Such a wicked place, I wonder

A silent witness to lives asunder

Wretched stench of death in the air

Mingled with cries of pain and despair

And helpless Angels, in fluttering gowns

Floating, bearing sombre frowns

Who often upon me, bestow a glare

Stressing my pointless presence there

With immense strength, I barely quell

The urge to flee, this embodiment of hell

For forced, I am here to stay

As a dear friend, withers away

Sorrow and fear in thoughts abound

Born of suffering that thrives around

And as towards sleep, I begin to stray

For swift respite, I quietly pray

Awoken at midnight, by a ghastly wail

Cringing, as I sense myself turn pale

I open my eyes, feel fear rebound

Seeing, my friend’s, panting mound

As I stare, with a gasp, his earthly bonds sever

Weakly I watch his soul, depart forever

Trailed by a lifeless gaze, profound

A sight which, my mind, shall eternally hound

As they gather his earthly remains

I hope, salvation, his spirit attains

Then solemnly, walking out the door

I cannot help but, myself, abhor

For as my friend endured torment

All I did was, shamelessly lament

And, suddenly I realize, pain swelling my core

His death granted, my loathsome wish of before

-Kartik Shastry