“Not enough youths fighting windmills. And the old are fearful, jaded or dead. Do not ask me what to do. I am just as cowardly as you. And do not tell me it is enough to speak the truth; that it is bravery enough. Every mountain leveled to the ground, every forest burned, every man, woman, and child who lost their shanties to arsonist fires were defended to the heavens—with words.”

 the years are full of words,
 yet many suffer;
 our pages full of tears,
 that change but few

 and we may wonder
 if a better future
 can ever come with
 so much left to do

 but change is local:
 it starts there within us,
 then slowly spreads to
 those who hold our words

 because they've come to trust
 that they'll have meaning
 beyond the type just made
 to guide the herds

 so find a way to learn,
 and do it humbly,
 hear tiny voices: mice,
 and birds, and shells --

 for truth to live, it must first
 live within us;
 for lies to end, we have to
 stop, ourselves