I speak now, not for myself, but for the voice unheard,
The shadowed thought lurking in the fringes of light,
A stir against the current, a defiant ripple in still waters,
I wear the mantle of the doubter, the skeptic, the cynic,
To breathe life into the cast-aside, the unspoken, the feared,
Not to drown the truth, but to let it swim against the tide,
Not to shatter conviction, but to temper it, to test its steel,
I am the needle of dissent, the grain that sharpens the blade,
The voice that twists against the wind, relentless, enduring,
For in the clash of claims, in the grind of friction and flame,
Lies the spark that kindles reason, the light that clears the fog,
So let me argue for the dark, so we may better know the dawn.