When Our Frail Voices Die Poem by Raymond Cabrera

Rage o’er plenteous words which do cry,
Weep on potent desires and its screaming grief,
Frail voices seem a thing that supposes to die,
Yet, our trembling accents still seek for relief.

We must stir the pulse of our own nation,
The salient trials to herald the tomorrow,
Scream out; be brave for our democratic passion,
Or prefer to be weak on every day’s sorrow.

Each hearts has its burning desire to be free
From the cage; wraps us, weave us in confusion,
We struggle together to get trough from misery,
Exploit our furious rights to find the solution.

Shall speak out our thoughts on this commotion
Of cunning persons, his wiles or constant plight,
And a vow to rebuild our once fruitful nation
In dark - the Light, shall it ever gleam on our sight?

Our voices; wretched and pitiless neglected
Soft voices, suddenly grow gray with fear
Behind hatred, restore the dreams that’s so dead
And despoil and tremble to arise; oh hear!

Though how few we are, or silent we may be
On each fiery spirit, wants to save the country
From bewilder; we behold such strange or weird,
Altogether, we’ll scream ‘till our last breath is heard.