Let me take you on a wander,
To a world spun silver-bright,
Woven from the stuff of yearning
And the fabric of the might-be –
A kingdom balanced on a maybe,
Where possibility is the air.
In this realm, the word “community”
Means hands that hold, not fists that close;
Neighbours paint murals, share harvests,
Child-laughter spills into thoroughfares –
Here nobody is hungry for bread
Or for someone to finally see them.
Opportunity grows wild as daisies,
Sprouting cracks through every sidewalk,
And when you reach, it never bites –
It blooms in equal rain and sunlight
Without regard for ancestry, accent,
Or the spot that luck assigned you.
Imagine city squares strung with lanterns
of a thousand different colours –
Artists and dreamers gather freely,
building worlds with words and chalk.
No voice is smothered by poverty,
and invention is measured in kindness
as much as in spark or steel.
See schools where learning is wonder,
not a race or crushing burden –
Where children map the stars with hope
and teachers are honoured as architects of tomorrow.
No child is locked from wonder by cost,
nor marked by hunger in morning light –
Here, futures grow uncaged, and bright.
The billionaire’s towers, at last,
Shade not the poor, but the coffers
Of public good: they shoulder their part,
Paying tribute where tribute is due –
And politicians—can you dream it? –
Work as servants, not as kings
Of shadowy donors and sly lobbyists.
In this land, Gaia kneels at nobody’s mercy;
We adore her roots, her wings,
Her wild wind and rivered veins –
Profit is measured not in barrels
But in whalesong, honeybee,
Dappled emerald in the morning.
Investors find no gold
In weapons, machines of flying ruin –
Lockheed, Raytheon, Northrop –
Their names recede to dusty ledgers,
Where a child, tracing peace signs
On a textbook, wonders at the need.
And faith, oh faith: here it is
A candle lit within, a hush,
Not a cudgel hoisted, not a wall –
No cults command, no dogmas scald,
Just the gentle grace
Of “I am, and so are you.”
So lift the veil and peer with me:
This world is not, may never be –
Yet the blueprint, the possibility
Hums bright and stubborn in our marrow.
Let us plant it, water it –
In word, in dream, in daily deed –
Let us lend hope’s tender muscle,
To the world that could be
If only we let it grow.
© Bakchos 2025
