Reaching out

I saw you, glassy eye’d, face distorted in a silent scream, your hand reaching out to the skies. I walked in, viewed your medical report. . .
Next of kin: none
Contact person: social worker in oldage home.

I pray for your suffering to be eased. You sit up, reach out your hand, tears streaming down your face. . . You try to say something. . . But disappear, back, into the silent scream.

I walk out wondering How your story unfolds, maybe i’ve left you wondering why a stranger visited you only to be silent.