Dormant And Active.
I remember most his blue eyes
huge beacons of despair staring up at me sadly from his electric wheelchair there was such a hunger there. For all I represented in his bleak crippled view, strutting by on two strong legs, something he'd never do... my arms carrying books four tucked under each hand words he never would hold let alone understand. Love's sweet possibilities, lovely girls to caress, worlds left unexplored all the ways love can bless. I held such a bright future, to his gargoyle of flesh strapped to leather and chrome where his frailer bones would mesh, bent with suffering and strife, sandwiched there all his life. A thin strand of drool, graced his thin, bone dry lips, Left unable to quench his own thirst, with cool sips he sat waiting for caretakers, outside a classrooms, at the school I attended, where such kids weren't befriended I went off to eat lunch, from his life so upended. I don't know what became of that poor disabled boy born so far from the norm, with no joy forced to dwell dead center there amidst all those fate had left well, who boldly strode by never looking at him, no one ever said "Hi," or tossed him a grin, His parents both wanted what his peers would all share but they didn't spend the hours that he spent sitting there. they both failed to see that their decisions left him duped he was a boy with a fork in a world peddling soup...... I now wish that I had offered him, the tastes of life I cherised but I walked on a different plane, where his dreams would surely perish, and all his hopes were grounded. It had to be so hard to bear, as the good life rolled on by him on his four wheels that creaked only despair.
Remember all those left disabled, we're but one wrong turn away, from a life that paralyzes, all the dreams that come our way, one fall, one dive, one bullet, one disease that steals our hope, so be kind to those left disabled, say something nice to help them cope. make them feel needed,
grant then some hope.
© 2010 Matthew Frederick Blowers III