Oppressed and enslaved,

They wanted free from those tweed wearing

tea taxing,

Queen-loving

Brits.

for a better future.

They couldn't take it anymore

Slavery will end,

They vowed!!

So blacks with their spears,

Challenged whites who had guns,

To war,

For freedom.

This was it,

Freedom,

or

Death.

No running,

No turning back,

Blood shed,

Mourning,

Sorrow,

In the end,

Spears won.

These walls hear dreams.

As one goes, white noise follows

Into these rooms, and it reverberates

From ceiling to

Corner and corner and

Back again.

Louder, it grows

As notes add on.

In the bare brush of feet

Along this carpet,

In the faint strains

Of this song or another,

In the cracking of these

Sore knuckles,

In the pre-recorded applause

Of late night with

Insert name here,

In the rustle of weight

Shifting and sheets moving,

In the bangs of falling things

And muffled curses from

Hurting others,

In the clicking of a pen

And the jingle of

Keys,

In the rush of a door

Slam shaking the foundation,

In the scraping of a fork 

And drip of 

A leaky faucet,

In the riotous laughter

Outnumbered by the 

Soft pull of tissues

From a box,

Collectively it is the whole of

An existence.

Decipher the static and

All you will hear

Is a life, in these

Small sounds.