In cosmic halls, we stand as one,

Before the Judge, where hearts are won.

With courage born, our truths unfold,

A spirit-tapestry, young and old.

Echoes of the past may softly fall,

Shadows cast, yet our voices call.

In silence, whispers weave a gentle spell,

A heart aligned, a story to tell.

Yet, He, the Listener, yearns to hear,

Our deepest cries, our innermost fear.

With comfort, healing, and a gentle hand,

He mends the threads of our fragile stand.

So let our voices rise, clear and bright,

In stillness, He draws near, a guiding light.

As we weave this soul-tapestry so fine,

May our truths be heard, our hearts entwined.