Voiceless

Looking down through my window, at the beautiful people shuffling like charmed regals. My chair can get closer from the side, but the view isn't as accessible. If I could only get well, I can do those things. I could eat nails, be a badass from my immunity to sufferings. Is it because I am bad or would do bad things? I'd like to think I am disabled for a purpose. I hope that it is in lightening God's burden, sharing his cross, that is heavy. I see more people now, wandering the streets. No one talks to them, they pretend they don't see. I know the routine. There is a vulnerability in this world that is unfair. The unborn, even less able with their handicap than me, to have a voice. One day, the world will see the truth. It will set them free. The last will be first and the first will be last. When we all get our permanent incorruptible bodies. There's no need for wheelchairs in heaven, no need to avoid like the plague, because there won't be any. Just things the way they ought to be.