Will the demolition man know

what lies within these age-old walls,

five-shilling a yard foundations

evolved from historic battlefields.
 

Will he taste if it is blood

bone, heart or skin

hiding within empty wards, waiting

to succumb to the unknown.

As the echo of his steel toe boots
reverberates through corridors
and daylight cracks the dome,
will he catch his own reflection
in the detail of the dirt-stained glass.
 

And if he is overcome

with a need to pause –

 

will he hear the whispers of the lost,

pleading for the signal

of the wrecking ball's release.
 

Then as the hospital falls

will the demolition man look,

far beyond the plume of smoke and dust,

to the smiling face of the child -

 

freed from the suffering

of her mothers last goodbye.