There stands a voice, alone, unseen,
With wisdom bright, though cloaked in dream,
A whisper lost in crowded air,
Yet holding truth, beyond despair.
The quiet call for what is right,
Drowns beneath the blinding light,
Of those who sell the empty creed,
Who shout with power, plant the seed.
The bus-side boasts, the posters bold,
With lies of futures bought and sold,
To sway the crowd, to blur the view,
The wealth amassed by just a few.
The pensioners, the frail, the meek,
Who find their fight but cannot speak,
Their struggles lost in silvered halls,
Where silence echoes in the walls.
Yet lone, a voice, begins to rise,
In eyes once blind, it sparks, it flies,
For freedom lives where speech remains,
Where questions linger, where thought refrains.
Not all who challenge seek to harm,
Nor stir the violent, nor cause alarm,
But dare to ask, and dare to learn,
In whispered fires, the truth may burn.
The masses find, in humble sound,
A strength once small, now spreading round,
As voices joined, the power grows,
A movement born from silent throes.
Yet still the gatekeepers deny,
Their golden pens still write the sky,
And mute the words that dare to say,
“Perhaps we’ve strayed, there’s a better way.”
But freedom’s voice is hard to bind,
And truth will rise, though cruelly mined,
For strongest is the one who stands,
Alone, yet firm with outstretched hands.
No evil wears a single face,
It hides in wealth, it shifts with grace,
It moves the masses, paints the wall,
But cannot crush the voice of all.
So speak, though few may hear your call,
For every truth, though small, stands tall.
Verbal Alchemy 