In the quiet corners,
where voices fade and light hesitates,
compassion lingers—
not in banners or applause,
but in the soft refusal to look away.
It is the hand that trembles,
yet still reaches.
The witness who stands,
though unseen,
when suffering is made spectacle.
The shadows do not silence,
they sharpen the heart.
For in the dimmest places
is where truth is most raw,
and love most needed.
And so we dwell here,
not in glory,
but in vigil.
Guardians of what the world
would rather forget.
The Humane Herald 