My clenched fists beat against your chest as I screamed in the night.
You snuffed my thrash, clutched my hands in your own and hugged me tight.
I cried out in agony, angst of life unfair
You stood strong, held me, ran your fingers through my hair
White knuckles still balled up, nails cutting into my palm
Your loving whispers to me soothing my torn heart calm
With my hands firmly pressed close, still between us embraced
You laid pen in my hand for words not to be erased
A treasure among all the loving gifts you give me
Realization of self, found freedom,
MY poetry

( Sonnet )*

Poppies, wild in a quarry,
Orange, brighter than sun,
Thrusting thoroughly gravel,
Bold as soul crossing sticks
Into ****** pagan heydays,
A crop of colours branding
The loose stipend of stones,
One windy trail-flare shock,
A bulwark of stars, so laden
On landed, maiden shores,
The first batillion breaking,
By mighty petal, prim hands
Fiercly alive atop the lifeless,
Gravely low, defeated soot.

Adapting as per the disability
an owl is hence regarded wise
while just whining about it constantly,
makes a man too weak to rise.