budding thoughts of newer days
on post-its everywhere
each behold a simple life
that should be made to bear

tiny futures made of ink
that whistle under hands
wait until they’re asked to speak
as more the world demands

if every human from the earth
fulfilled their ecstasy
then nothing would be hungered for
and none would cease to be

we’ll search the journals and the notes
if we can do a thing
for those who can’t or those who won’t
to live under a wing

to wish is but to live or die
and you’ve been last to know
the nights are cold and days are dry
so write them as you go