T.S. Eliot: "In silent corridors of death"

In silent corridors of death
Short sighs and stifled breath,
Short breath and stifled sighing;
Somewhere the soul crying.
And I wander alone
Without haste, without hope, without fear
Without pressure or touch
There is no moan
Of souls dying
Nothing here
But the warm
Dry airless sweet scent
Of the alleys of death
Of the corridors of death.



photo of Eastern State Penitentiary by VL Fatum