Hear Me

Hear me.

Though all that plays
is breeze on leaves,
hear me.
Hear something about
my heart
that sets me apart
from the rest.

But why beg I to God
of food and home
while children starve
and bleed to death
in Africa?
Or mothers weep
for peace
from bomb debris
in Iran?

But hear me.

I am ashamed
that I still have needs,
wants, even,
when America still feeds
the poor and impoverished
at the sake of a
credit score.

But I just want to


With nothing to care for
but the breeze on leaves.
To stand alone, for a moment
at Father’s feet,
despite being only one
of billions.

Hear me.

Then, for the sake of shame,
forget I ever spoke,
and please go help
the others.

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