11:11

11:11 is when i wish, The wish of that which i do not exist In a world of hurt and poverty. But that wish is far from reality I wish, I pray, I beg, I plea, That my wish will one day eventually be, But the children, The mothers, The fathers, The elders, Are still out there with there hunger. And they are looking through trash, Through alley's, Through buildings, Anywhere where they can be cured of ravenousness and emptines. But im afriad that, That is not always how it ends. Some do not find food, Some starve, Some sufer, Some die of hunger. But why do you care? You look well feed, Well nourished, Well keeped, So why do you feel pity for someone so needy. Its shame that plays that game, The shame of not helping, Of not offering, Of not acknowledging, That person when they are down on their knees, begging for something For anything! And you give, You give money, You give food, You give clothes, Anything to cure that hole. And that hole was my 11:11 wish, But it is not quite fixed. And it never will be.