Sterile halls and fluorescent light, Where human pain is bought and sold, Calculated in the dead of night, Turned to silver, turned to gold.
A siren wails, a ledger grows, They charge a fortune for the ride, A rigid rule that never knows The quiet panic held inside.
Itemized upon a sheet, Every breath a hidden cost, Where compassion takes a back seat, And basic decency is lost.
They trade in fear, they trade in care, With hidden costs and padded claims, While people bleed or breathe thin air, Reduced to numbers and to names.
No room for peace, no room for grace, Just cold compliance, fee by fee, A market in a holy place, That charges just to set you free.
-
Author:
Lewis O’Carroll (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 31st, 2026 02:10
- Comment from author about the poem: A poetic critique of the U.S. healthcare industry—exploring how corporate profit, predatory billing, and rigid institutional bureaucracy often override human empathy and genuine patient care.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
It is the sad truth where a comercial machine is hidden under a sterile facade. Holy holy is thy name whitened sepulcher of rotting capitalistic filth the pharmaceutical industry. A fave
Tell me about it! I liked how you put it "Holy holy is thy name whitened sepulcher of rotting capitalistic filth the pharmaceutical industry." Man, you won't believe the amount of my own real life experience and legit stories I know of corrupt hospitals, just fuck em all...lmfao, i aint paying them a penny to support such corruption
There are some medications that are necessary but the industry is totally corrupt and the amount of pills prescribed is obscene
yeah, i dont know everything baout it, i cant say all meds are total shit but you\'re right it\'s corrupt as hell....pun intended
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.