Small, Faint Noises

You can learn a lot from the droning of a fan in a silent room. 

Sometimes I hear truth in the white noise.

The feel of the air being pushed over my sweating body. 

It comforts me, tolerates me. 

Sometimes I hear voices, like whispers from some unknown frequency

Bouncing off of radio waves and the filaments in my teeth

Maybe it’s me, Maybe it’s not

In those moments 

I find the most potent truths

Things that stay with me for a lifetime

And forged the paths that I have led through my life

All from a bit of madness

Sometimes I hear crying

Pleading and begging

I hear prayer

I try not to listen to those 

Cause I feel like I’m intruding

I’ve tapped into a frequency that was only meant

for a person and their creator

I am just a passerby 

Who happened to stumble onto your transmission

Forgive me

A lot of times, I hear arguing

A lot of people arguing over things that don’t matter

A whole heap of people trying to get one over the other

It makes me sad

It makes me realize the flaw in my own contentious nature

Whats the thrill of always being right

When everyone hates you for it

Whats the use in having all the facts

When it makes you a target

The droning of the fan goes on

And I listen with closed eyes

Lulling me to infinite sleep oblivion

I have slept this way since childhood

It has made me who I am

Nothing but a dull hum

A whisper

But if you listen close enough

An important one