The old man closes his eyes,
no tears this time
he thinks to himself.
The bed moves,
the machines pump.
Life goes on around me
but I am hardly living a life.
The old man opens his eyes,
milky white cataract covered eyes.
Nothing is quite what it seems
in shades of gray and white.
A world blurred.
No hearts are stirred,
at my plight.
The old man closes his eyes,
let the tears flow this time
he thinks to himself.
Every day passes by,
every breath laboured.
No one really cared,
just another dying prisoner
shackled to a hospital bed.
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