Voices Out of Nowhere (Poetry)

I’m on my own but not alone tonight —
the silence folds — deceptive — at its core
a sound is stirring — squirming thin its wail
of discontent — a whine that gathers strength —
broadens and becomes a smothered roar.

A babble — indistinct — a wash of noise
far-distant as it worries at the dark —
undermines the hour’s promised peace —
one voice is separating from the mob
and words spit forth a sudden urgent arc.

Some nights give birth to whispered prophesies —
the quiet evening offers up its space
to visitors from nowhere with their tales —
strange communications that disturb
with echoes of some lost and troubled place.

I am the scribe who writes their histories —
although I cannot name — identify
the source — or pin each character or time
to anything of substance — such things fade —
except the voices that I know them by.