Rays of hope, burdened by clouds of fear,
streak their way across the dark, molten irises
that sing in the moonlight, and cry in the sunshine,
a melody for the strength of those convicted:

For the strength of those convicted
of crimes unavoidable and upon treason unspoken;
For the tenacity of their beloved suns, lovely, sacred sons,
and their beloved stars, lovely, sacred hands;

For their voices, those that pierce the night
the unassailable howls of broken men under broken moons
from a broken land that trembles and quakes the pattern—
One that cradled them—the design that smothered them;

For their hearts, those that beat and dance unhindered,
drums that preach without hands to guide them,
rhythms born of a spirit unbreakable and untamed,
a spirit that shines in the eyes of those convicted.