WHEN WILL WE EVER LEARN?

One Woman’s Cry to a World Too Busy to Listen

She climbed the stairs with weary feet,
Above the noise of every street.
She hoped that from a greater height,
Her words might reach beyond her sight.

She reached the roof and looked below,
And saw all the people on the go.
She gathered her courage, her heart filled with concern,
She then shouted, “When will we ever learn?”

Her words were carried by the breeze,
Beyond the rooftops and the trees.
She thought that someone might look high,
And hear her question in the sky.

But down below, the crowds moved on,
Through busy streets from dusk till dawn.
They hurried along with places to be,
Too busy to notice, no pain they could see.

She wondered why compassion seemed rare,
When countless souls were desperate for care.
How people could inflict so much pain,
And leave behind a lasting stain.

The brutal acts, the words that scar,
The suffering hidden near and far.
The cruelest hands, the coldest hearts,
That tear another’s world apart.

And those who knew but looked away,
Who carried on throughout the day.
For what they never had to see,
Was someone else’s misery.

She wasn’t asking the world to weep,
Just to notice the sorrow that ran so deep.
She only wished they’d stop and care,
And see the hurt unfolding there.

She watched the traffic passing through,
As people did what people do.
They hurried home, they hurried back,
And never noticed what they lacked.

For life had taught them how to race,
But not to stop and see a face.
To fill each hour with things to do,
While someone’s pain remained in view.

She stood so high above the ground,
Believing height would spread the sound.
Yet standing there, beyond the crowd,
Her cries went unheard, though clear and loud.

And there she stood, aware at last,
As strangers hurried blindly past.
She searched for someone who might care,
But not a soul looked upward there.

The evening came, the daylight died,
She stood in silence, still hurt inside.
The world below continued its pace,
Unaware of her sorrow in that crowded place.

She made her way back down the stairs,
Still burdened by the world’s affairs.
She wished the world would stop and see,
The cost of losing humanity.

For every heart that feels alone,
There may be pain we’ve never known.
A little time, a moment spared,
Could show a soul that someone cared.

She’d asked the question from above,
Of human cruelty, compassion, and love.
But as she left, one truth was clear:
The world must care enough to hear.

Even though she was a ghost,
I saw her beside the railing post.
Someone had taken her life away,
Yet no one heard what she tried to say.

But I tried to listen anyway.

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