I think I hear them.

Over the grass
Over the mountain
Under the bridge
Little voices growing bigger
Getting closer
They’re whispering
They don’t seem to care if we understand
They’ll just make those sounds
Shape those words
Aspirate those ideas
Until they are here
At our feet
Or at our ears
Or towering above us.
They sound small from a distance
But it could be that what is coming for us is huge
Or it could be smaller than gnats
But I don’t think they’re happy
Those are accusatory whispers
Coming over the walls
And in through the cracks in the floorboards

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