Beneath the wide and watchful sky,
a thousand quiet voices rise.
Not in thunder,
but in whispers carried
through fields, forests, forgotten cages.
They speak of promises broken,
of wings clipped before the wind,
of eyes that asked for nothing
but a day unmeasured by chains.
Yet still, echoes remain—
in the hush of twilight,
in the rustle of leaves,
in the breath between our heartbeats.
And if we dare to listen,
we may find
that the sky itself is not empty,
but waiting
for us to answer.
The Humane Herald 