In this place where i stand.
Upon the heavens with their golden sands.
I look down on the poor and damned.
Lonely, starving and crying for help with outreached hands.
Hands i can't reach
Dying from lack of substance and disease.
Each and every prayer
Just a noise in my ear.
Why should i help?
Why should i care?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I guess we all have something in ourself. Lots of out there reaching out. Prayer can diminish all. Stand what you are, fulfill your purpose.