In the shadows of the grey world, she stands softly high,
She is unyeilding, her voice a war cry.
For speaking alas she thinks,
She is a martyr for our balance, her morals in inks.
Her words screech out, in the deafening silent,
Her opinion to most men to be found strident.
She knows the heavy cost of her fight, it’s a price she’ll saintly people,
She stands unafraid, she thinks “Come what may”.
As the rope tightens, around her neck,
She offers a terminal plea, one last check.
“Though my body may be silenced, she sobs, your spirit is strong!, For all that’s good and right, she chokes, Please, speak out and belong”.
And with her last words, she meets her end,
A pro se, ikigai, her message needing to send.
Her sacrifice won’t be in vain, Her legacy needs to be known,
In a world that’s silenced her, her voice has flourished and grown.
Written by Brogan Flowers.
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