A striving, screaming, shouting glimpse of innocence
Peaked from inside dying hope.
We all can hear the piercing screaming cries.
Not one shred of compassion, though
not one hand reached out by the free
not one shackle hit the ground

A plead so faint and stricken arms reaching out
My heart is racing,
dripping in cold pure guilt.
Shake off the dirt that hits me like a cold, sudden breeze?
No,
The corner of my eye still bearing an incident that only needs
the justice and purity of those who soar beyond the deprived
But we wonder aimlessly in our own doubts, in our own worries.

We inspect our own issues,
we are like stone bricks now,
keeping the needy away,
and yet we ask ourselves how?

How can the tall stand tall when they kneel?
How can the rich stay rich when they give?
Same as this:

How can the small stand tall without getting a hand?
How can the poor become rich without compassion and assistance?

So don’t shed a tear on the issue.
Don’t beg for a hero to come.
Man mends man.
The poor help the rich and the rich help the poor.
Be the hero to come.
Be the tall to kneel.