In the night time he sleeps with lights on
in daylight he sits in the shadow
he spends most of his day wishing
he was no longer living alone.
In the morning he goes downstair's with care
just as he does when he goes on back up
not because hes old and fragile
but because who may be below
or them that might be above.
Though he has nothing much of value
on each door he has several locks
a window he never leaves open
its bolted like a miniture fort knox.
He dreads and fears going out
but who to bring him milk and bread?
but once out another fear beholds him
returning and going in home again.
It's been 18 months since discharged from hospital
the outside bruises have all healed
but never the memory of that horrid night
he was broken into, robbed almost killed.
He still wakens throughout the night
even disturbed by wind and rain
sobs softyly into his pillow knowing
his home and fear has become his ball and chain.
They say there is no place like home
true... but this to you i tell
take whatever measures to keep it that way
before it becomes your prison cell.
itchywitch Poetry (38)