Voice of the weak

In shadows deep, where whispers hide,
The silent suffer, hearts collide.
No gilded stage, no spotlight's gleam,
Yet in the hush, their spirits dream.

A tremor rises, soft and meek,
The unheard cry, the voice of the weak.
It tells of chains unseen, unkind,
Of battles fought in heart and mind.

Through walls of scorn and tides of pain,
Their courage hums a quiet refrain.
Not loud, not proud, but steady, clear,
A call for hope that all may hear.

For even rivers start as streams,
And even darkness hides small beams.
The voice of the weak, though frail, may shake
The roots of stone, the walls of fate.

So listen close, and do not flee,
For in their words lies destiny.
A spark, a flame, a world to seek—
The mighty born from voices weak.