This decaying hollow haven still stands tall,
with all its stories reverberating through every hall.
Everywhere you look you see rust,
chipping blackening paint, and floating dust.
The floors are uneven,
the pipes and poles beaten.
The windows are broken or faded,
every inch is degraded.
The cold sneaks in through the gaps and cracks,
you follow all of the prisoner's old tracks.
You step where they once walked and stood,
thinking about their shoulds, coulds, woulds.
Looking through the rust covered cell bars,
you imagine what it was like not being able to see the stars.
You think of all the scars that must have smothered their hearts,
just wanting to escape and have new starts.
This vacant abyss still holds the broken,
the strained, the broken-hearted, the unspoken.
The guilty, the evil, the shamed,
the innocent, the naive, and the wrongfully blamed.
Your pulled in two different directions,
feeling the sinful and their projections.
Feeling the guiltless and their depression,
both of their hearts possessing aggression.
It holds all of the unheard tales,
telling every wrong in powerful detail.
The weak played strong, the strong stronger,
not wanting to feel like disposable leftovers any longer.
When you walk through these halls you can't help but grieve
for their mistakes, their pain, and their disbeliefs.
Their heavy-hearted souls still roam the halls,
waiting for some friendly calls.