The Voices of the Streets.

In the heart of every city,
Where steel and glass touch sky,
Walk those who bear the burden,
Of a truth that will not die.
They gather not for chaos,
Nor for fleeting fame or might,
But for justice, love, and freedom,
For the wronged to make things right.

Each step a tale of courage,
Each breath a whisper brave,
They march against the darkness,
With a will that will not cave.
The young, the old, together,
A tapestry of dreams,
United by the struggle,
Bound by hope's eternal beams.
In the dawn's first light, they gather,
Silent, yet so loud,
A quiet storm approaching,
A defiant, unbowed crowd.
Their eyes reflect a future,
Unseen but dearly sought,
A land where all are equal,
Where justice can't be bought.

With placards raised like standards,
With slogans sharp as swords,
They write a new world’s anthem,
In verses, not in lords.
They sing of broken promises,
Of shattered, fraying ties,
Of leaders deaf to reason,
Of old, familiar lies.

The air is thick with tension,
A palpable, charged haze,
Yet within it, a conviction,
An unyielding, focused gaze.
For protesters are the dreamers,
The builders of a dawn,
Unwilling to accept the chains,
In which they were born.

The chants grow ever louder,
A chorus fierce and wild,
A call for truth and justice,
In voices strong, compiled.
They shout for those in shadow,
For those who have no voice,
They speak the words unsaid aloud,
And give the silenced choice.

The clamor of their marching,
A rhythm steady, strong,
The beat of countless footsteps,
In a righteous, rolling throng.
Each pulse a story, lived and breathed,
Of hardship and of fight,
A testament to resilience,
A blaze against the night.

The lines of armored phalanx,
The shields and batons raised,
A stark and cold reminder,
Of those who feel betrayed.
But even in the face of fear,
Their spirits do not break,
For every stand they make today,
Is for a future’s sake.

The tear gas clouds, the shouted threats,
The chaos in the air,
Do little to diminish,
The strength of those who care.
For protesters are warriors,
Of peace, of love, of rights,
They battle not with violence,
But with hearts that pierce the night.

Through city streets and country roads,
Their message spreads afar,
From every voice, a chorus grows,
A symphony to jar.
They march for many reasons,
For justice, for the land,
For water pure, for wages fair,
For every woman, man.

The media may paint them,
As unruly, lost, or wild,
Yet each one stands with purpose,
Each one a parent’s child.
For protests are not mindless,
They are thought and soul combined,
A tapestry of voices,
A collective, driven mind.

And as the days turn into weeks,
And weeks into the years,
The echoes of their footsteps,
Ring out in history’s ears.
The change they seek, though distant,
Is seeded in the ground,
And from their cries and actions,
A new world is found.

For protesters are the heralds,
Of a time yet to come,
A world not based on violence,
But where peace is struck like drums.
They carry forward visions,
Of a better, fairer place,
Where every person matters,
Regardless of their race.

They march for those in prison,
For those who have no say,
For the children yet to be born,
For a fairer, brighter day.
They hold the line of freedom,
Against the tides of hate,
And though the road is perilous,
They trust in what they create.

So here’s to all protesters,
To the brave and to the bold,
To those who walk the path of light,
Who refuse to be controlled.
In every chant, a heartbeat,
In every step, a vow,
To never cease, to never yield,
Until justice is here and now.

They are the world's compass,
Its moral guiding star,
They walk the line of fire,
They bear each battle scar.
And though they may not see it,
The fruits of their demand,
They plant the seeds of freedom,
With a strong and steady hand.

For in their steps, a promise,
A future forged anew,
A land of peace and justice,
Where equality rings true.
They are the change, the chorus,
The dreamers wide awake,
The protesters, the guardians,
Of the world we strive to make.