They just hum

I listen to their stories, And also their vivid theories. I listen of their swords to tears, From their triumph to fears. About their cold nights About their moments of flight. About their pains, And also about the dragons they have slain. About their tries, About their sighs. About their lows About their highs. Why I listen? I am not aware, Or maybe because now I am too worn to care. For those who listen, have a burden they can't share. Of comforting all those to whom world wasn't fair. They are mum, Not because they lack a voice, But because they don't have the luxury of choice. The ones who listen don't speak They just hum. Because the listener of their pain is none.