His Silence: A Poem About Autism © 2014 By: J.L. Jacobs

My nephew has a severe form of Autism, so I decided to write a poem from my sister's point of view based on what she see's and deals with.

His Silence: A Poem About Autism © 2014 

By: J.L. Jacobs

He, my son, was born one day;

a quiet baby who cannot play.

Never normal, we had no idea.

But his curse was very, very real.

He has total blindness and never will see,

a curse for him in which I weep.

Over the years as he got older,

more burdens were placed on my shoulder.

Other diagnosis said to me,

Autism in a severe degree.

What a heavy burden to bear,

for him it must be worse, I swear.

I cry for his pain.

His struggles remain.

Never normal will he be-

instead couldn't it have happened to me?

I cry and watch all his pain,

only silence from him shall remain.

I love him so, I cannot bear,

watching his life with such despair.

Kids his age can do it all,

while he bangs his head at the wall.

His constant rocking back and forth,

Autism is the horrible source.

He's trapped in a broken body,

he cannot even use the potty.

He hurts so bad, always constipated.

Constant enema's are anticipated.

He cannot speak to express his words,

I am a constant source of waterworks.

He cannot play nor function well,

trapped in his body of an autism shell. 

As he got older, he did not progress.

I feel so bad for him I openly digress.

I make wishes for him for a normal life,

instead of living with such strife.

His inner wounds will never heal, 

and I am left here with this upheaval.

I just feel so much defiance,

over his total degree of silence.

It's not fair! I shout up to the sky,

I sit here and often wonder why.

My poor, poor baby boy,

will never get to experience joy.

Autism can be so cruel,

why is this disease to darn brutal?

I'll never know why,

his constant silence makes me cry.

Author's Note

This poem was written for autism awareness.

Reviews

[LastMonth]

This is immensly powerful and painful.
I can't imagine something more frustrating then that.
Just watching, waiting, being unable to help.
Thinking about the future, what will happen with him.

You've written this in a masterful way, beautifully constructing the wounded mind of a mother. (If I am correct that it isn't driven from personal experience).

Thank you.