Alone inside a barren room, a man
sat with his head cupped in his wrinkled hands.
The things he did, he now no longer can.
With lots of effort, possibly he stands.
When you saw him, his desolation spilled
and drenched you in a feeling of despair,
to think of days with lonely waiting filled,
and hungering for someone who would care.
You passed his room, and then you wondered where
the hell was God amidst this wretchedness,
this sterile place that looked so hard to bear,
where suffering could instantly depress.
Remembering that room, so sad and scary,
you wish that you had been God’s emissary.
Mario A. Pita