In this corridor of song,

invocations colour space

now devoid of human voice,

as spirits whisper here

of hysterical imprisonment;

of torture painted pink and blue

and baa baa black sheep have you any

 

                                                              Hail Mary full of grace

 

Supplications resonate

in hidden mouths

as mournings cry to sing of lullabies.

Sticks and stones and catechisms;

all the litanies, repeating, wither hope;  

may break our bones

 

Pray for us sinners

 

Keenings sound their minor chords

and keys

are jangled ceaselessly

by Pharisees in judgement

of their wards

 

Ring-a-roses all fall down   

 

Now and at the hour of our death

 

Left to waste away

 

Wash out my stains

 

within these walls,

without.

 

Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo courtesy of Richard Nixon of Rich Pictures 

https://www.facebook.com/richpicturesphotography