The streets are littered with trash: bottles, cans, snack bags, plastic. Old toys, torn clothing. Unmatched shoes. 

Entangled in the senseless heaps are our dreams, our future; the parts of our soul we've cast aside.

The wind howls. The rain pours.

Most don't hear the world's cries.

Storms ravage. Fires rage.

When will we realize that the cries are our own?