Our voices are so loud we cannot hear
A thing except our sick attempts to serve
The Universal Good, trying to steer
Most everyone to think like "me" and swerve

By force... But maybe we're not meant to make
Such grand size gestures on some tattered old
Dank digital rude soapbox where we spake
In order to make changes to the world.

But maybe we are here to whisper kind
Things clear and truthfully into our sweet
And cherished dear ones' ears for us to find
The real and lasting changes on our street

So hold onto the righteous words you'd hurled
And whisper kinds of things to change the world.