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Invisible: A Sonnet

They say that children should be still, not heard
But since the age of two, my fight has been
To make my presence felt, to speak some word,
To make some gesture, that I might be seen.

Five decades later, still I sorely grieve.
The earliest image I am able
Forth from memory's storehouse to retrieve:
My family sitting at a table.

They turn their heads from me, avert their eyes,
Albeit to make them look so hard I try;
Heed not my sad face nor my mournful sighs.
My heart and mind know not the reason why.

Since that moment, half a century past,
I seek attention, till I breathe my last.


Contemplative says,

Amazing how the past can be so present. What goals we had and dreams unfilled and basic desires to be treated humanly, not asking to much. Hope you are heard and recognize the most important audience has replied: your inner voice. Wishing many blessings for present and future. Your writing, your sharing, both beautiful.

SinnerSaint says,

Love your nick. That's what I wish I could have been: a contemplative, cloistered monk. Alas, life decided differently...

t-indigo says,

My heart aches for a Moment returned in exchange for the love a child needs for a lifetime.

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