Conscience
Questions
unanswered,
Love
is but a past memory,
A lone
heart bereft.
A mother's
child cries,
Famine
engulfs its small form,
Life
seeps slowly away.
So lucky
are we,
We have
food in abundance,
And
lives truly blest.
Our hardship
self made,
We don't
rely upon aid,
We live
in the west.
So when
we complain,
We should
remember the pain,
Of unfortunates.
Perhaps
then we'll think,
Our
own needs are but trifles,
And
do not compare.
For heaven
awaits,
The
hungry stand at her gates,
Soaked
in mourning tears.
7/06/02 - serenex
Thank you for letting me use this. It says so much.