His eyes were like a well of sorrow,
As agonising as a serrated knife stabbed into his tender flesh.
His skin was like a sheet of paper,
As transparent as glass.
His limbs were like limp strings,
As thin as a promise.
He had waited forty years,
But what had happened?
Forty years he spent looking beyond the twenty-four bars that held him imprisoned,
And for forty years he dreamed of a better future.
One that did not require him to be caged
in darkness and silence.
Away from the cruel and malicious iron bars that were the barrier,
separating him from the freedom he had long yearned for.
But for forty years he had waited,
And for forty years he will have to wait, until the day,
And that day would have to wait, for what