Under the Sun

This poem belongs to all the children who will never know the joy of running on a beach and getting sand between their toes. Told from the perspective of a 12-year-old boy, wheelchair-bound. I know a place where the stars kiss the sea; and fish sing all night in cool harmony. Where golden crystals, sparkling in the sand are polished each night by a wizard's hand. Added to that are bright amethyst gems from the cache of sunset wandering in. A magical place where one can pretend those broken, like me, are able to mend. I found I could run at last--on fire! So fast a comet might even admire. I tumbled and cartwheeled all over sand; then shook a magician's vanishing hand. I whirled with delight, so eager to go to all those places intriguing me so defying gravity, I jumped so high, I touched the edge of the deep purple sky. Catching a ride from a planet to star I could glimpse them all, both near and far. No stopping me now, I joyfully thought. A passing moonbeam next I caught, that took me farther, a more distant place, where stars shake hands and then embrace I spoke with Zeus as his wife, Hera, smiled; even spoke with Ares, their wayward child. They said I must heed Earth's beckoning call; because i'm not one of them, after all. Suddenly captured by a downward draft, starting to tumble, I could hear Zeus laugh. As I tumbled down, the breeze gently placed me in my wheelchair--my usual space. But now that I know special secrets of a magical land so far above. I'll travel where my arms can at last lift a flower I find on a sandy drift. Where I can jump and dance and run-- and all things are possible under the sun.