There is no such thing, as a lone voice.
There are many voices.
Ones who supported, stood firm, believed.
Those who made food for late-night vigils,
brought the candles, started the prayers.
Reminded when the focus was lost,
Listened, when the road curved away out from sight.
Sat where they could be found, if needed.
You see a solitary figure speaking out,
I see the firm shadows behind them
lending them strength to stand so tall.
There is no such thing as a lone hero,
his face is many faces,
his voice a chorus of singers
intertwined, curled together,
melding into one mighty voice
asking for freedom.