They say that in silence, voices are heard.

But why is it that voices are silenced?

A quill fights for justice,

While a gun lives to kill—

to kill the truth, to kill our noise.

And when the gun’s shot fires,

echoes the hush of a bullet—

another soul stripped of their voice.

Yet even in silence, the ink still bleeds,

for every voice struck down by fear.

There is power in every witness here.

The pen endures where bullets fade—

even when the ink runs dry,

and every voice grows hoarse from every cry.

Still, it writes, for freedom’s sake—

for every crime that must be named.

It never rests until what’s right is claimed.

For truth cannot be buried deep,

nor chained, nor caged, nor put to sleep.

For truth to unveil, its cost is never cheap.

No voice is silenced. No future is erased.

For in the justice we seek, our voices speak.