Invisible

   
My soul senses Spring air at the window  
I hear fresh birdsong on the breeze  
but now my life is all blisters and ramps  
and I must accept that the steepest of hills  
will always remain beyond my reach    
There are fresh ruts in the carpet  
where I sat for hours  
face pressed hard
to the cold pain of my dawning truth   
It never gets easier to accept   
and all those inspirational Olympic heroes  
are quickly forgotten  
each time I am singled out    
for 'special' treatment  
cossetted and clucked at in front of a crowd  
when I crave only to stay invisible    
like you