He stands in solitary sadness,
Observing the world outside the window,
The shadow of his frail figure contrasts
Against the deep ruby richness of the curtains.
A sharp tug and a thin shaft of light darts through,
Quicker than he could ever move.
Illuminating the whiteness of his hair,
the sunken lines around his eyes.
He speaks and it pains me to hear
The hoarse strain of his voice.
He shuffles away slowly and my breath catches in my throat,
Glimpsing the bagginess of his trousers.
Yet acute anger and frustration overwhelms me,
To see him stuck in solitary sadness.