for you, me, everybody

I do not remember when idles dreams
of fracturing future possibilities
lost their sun-kissed gleam
and we dulled our ambitions into inabilities
with every spare second spent
swallowing bitter scraps of stories
about those privileged to fly; wings meant
for glimmering in their golden glories

but my ink-stained tongue
yearns to taste pages untold
lest we forget till death we are young
enough to be hungry, wanting and bold

perhaps the soul needs a few paper cuts
if only to remember all of this world, belongs to us.