these five cold walls
construct a tiny room
with a metal-barred door
to keep me here.

this place has been
my home for quite
some time now

and i grow old
and weary in waiting.

faces often come and go.
peering in with
vague, diminishing curiosity,
bright-eyed and eager
to know what this
cage contains.

they visit
briefly giving me their
love and affection.

and my heart flutters
with hope of a home
to belong to,
and others
to love and be loved by.

but i do not hold their interest long.
for i grow old
and wearing in waiting.

and their attention
quickly dwindles.

my heart aches
when i see them go,
and i am left here.
alone.

it is not my will
to be kept here
but here I will
be kept until
someone wishes
to keep me.