1984 By George Orwell

The frail figure moved
Quickly towards the glass door,
Down to the corner.
It had an enormous face,
A smallish, dark, and frail gaze.

From a far distance,
His eyes made the world look cold,
The wind came whirling,
Vile enough to tack a chin.
The sun ran away again.

His voice came like blades,
A cut deep into his breast,
Twas a meter wide.
His body was shutting down.
His winter had just ended

Leonell