On a lonely littered hillside

Sweating in the Summer heat,

Digging through the bits of garbage

Laying rotting at his feet.

Perhaps a few old bread crumbs

Or a sip for a mouth gone dry,

Just enough to keep him going

Until he too lies down to die.

And we sit at nightly banquets

Feasting till we cannot eat,

Throwing what we have left over

In a can out on the street.

When you push back from the table

Letting out a satisfied sigh,

Do you see the world that’s dying?

Can you hear the children cry?


[Personal Note: For nearly 25 years I have worked to release children from poverty's grasp.]

Though my life is very hectic, I try not to forget ideas as such.
Maybe you'd be a good candidate for winning a lottery of some sort.
If you could keep that type of perspective...

Hungry eyes feast your table,
as for them.
Their not able.
Hungry hearts need you to take Part.
Helping them feel and know.
They have a fresh new start.
Hungry children die.
With no-one saying goodbye.
ISN'T THEIR LIFE WORTH,
A REAL cry, a REAL TRY!


Your poem here breaks my heart.
For I also have seen the hunger.
And children can't be the blame.
For being born to poverty and pain.
KEEP ON FIGHTING FOR THEM.
KEEP ON TELLING THIS WORLD.
KEEP ON TRYING TO BE HUMAN.
AS EACH CHILD SMILES BACK AT YOU!!

I got cold chills when I read that, the last two lines in fact caused the reaction.

Excellent David.

heartbreaking i hope the world, through efforts like yours, knows a time when no child lives within such horrors.

Thought provoking and self reflecting

Excellent write.....