Tiny beings speak to me
Saying all sorts of lies,
Half truths, and occasionally,
Things I don't want to believe.

"why are you doing that?"

In the buzz of conversations
And rants, and lessons ignored
By unwilling listeners,
There's a sudden halt.

"Is he alright?"

The silence lasts for just a moment
Just long enough for the little things
To see if their host heard the muttering
Of the smallest of them all.

"You don't think..."

With some trepidation they
Start those engines up again,
Spreading the comfortable noise
Over their fear.

"That was close."

The little sprites have an inkling,
A vague terror that perhaps
If that tiny voice was to be heard
They'd be evicted.

"Fool."

So they rumble on,
Talking over each other,
Preparing for the next time
That the smallest voice, Reason, speaks.