His beautiful wide smile
I saw his eyes,
I saw his smile,
I saw his art.
He let us peek into his heart.
His spirited heart
Conquering his captors of muscle and bone
That keep him anchored to his chair.
He does not wallow in despair
But confronts his challenges of life and birth.
Through his paintings he rises
And fills the room with joy and mirth.
His hands are not supple or lithe;
But guided by his love of life
They paint a world in celebration.
Colourful flowers perfectly formed,
Music, dance and sport.
His slow hands paint
Musicians with none of his restriction,
As their keyboards and drums thrill
In life’s celebration.
Energy and revelry
Fill his canvas, his voice and his face.
He sits in his chair,
The embodiment of dignity and grace.
He cannot dance or surf
Or race horses on turf.
But his mind dances
And his painted horse prances,
Leaping effortlessly over hurdles.
In his wheelchair
And faces each tempestuous wave
And jumps life’s hurdles every day.
A young boy, brave
And full of flair.
A boy not cowed by his fate,
A boy we can celebrate.
Read other poems by Sharon Heaney Stansfield