Johnny had autism, he couldn’t even tie his shoes
But he could play by ear classical, jazz and blues.
Sylvia was deaf, but put a paint brush in her hand
She would create pictures so marvelously grand.
Captured by his hands, stored in his creative mind
Mathew created portraits in clay though he was blind.
But the huge world simply passed them all by
They created in secret and then they did die.
Paintings by one who had never a bird song heard
Music by a young man who had never spoken a word
Sculptures by a man who’d never seen the morning sun
Went unheard and unseen when their lives were done.
Society did not acknowledge their existence, you see
Outcasts, unwanted is what it considered all three.
Because they were different, because they didn’t “fit”
The world did not want to see them as part of it.
Beyond their outer differences the world did not glance
It turned them away coldly, didn’t give them a chance.
It did not seek to know the people that they were inside
So it knew not of the wonderful gifts that each within did hide.
But that very selfsame world will in the end pay the final cost
In unseen beauty and unsung melodies now forever lost.
MARANTHA D. JENELLE