The Wishing Well

One day, I did not have anything to do and I kept having this strange dream about a cold world with people walking aimlessly around some kind of rounded stone wall. So, I wrote a poem about it:

The Wishing Well
One whisper, just a lil'
Sent down the well
Carries a shrill
Noise, a small thrill,
For those who would kill
Just for a pill
Or one more meal,
Bounces off of a wall,
Sends a bundle, a ball,
Of hope for all
Who wait for that call
To shiver under their shawl
And continue to crawl
'Til they end up again at the rounding wall.

For me, I was seeing in my mind the hopeless, the helpless, the homeless leaning over a wall and throwing in their distress and anger and despair, desperately wishing for a better life. When they whisper down this well, they think to themselves that if no sound came back they would be dead or better off that way. But if a sound returns, it gives them hope to keep living their lives even though they all know that sooner or later they would return to that well to do the same thing again.