A Hole Dug for my Blanket and I

The peace I feel here is not one of eternalness,

But it is one of slumber

My gracious grave is soft and white

A warm and welcoming embalming space,

Serenfully accompanied with a blanket

A knit portion of cloth in shades of chestnut and coffee,

In a resemblance alike the earthly dirt that surrounds me

While I am not embedded in the earth,

Or six feet under the green grass,

I am shielded from the chaos of the living,

Of life,

Of mine,

Here in my resting place

Though it is not final

Like a soul who has left this world,

My body is paralyzed here,

Under the sheets of my white linen coffin

I can still hear the world ensuing around me,

Around my decrepit vessel

Though my isolation is partnered with silence,

I can still hear the living, living

To shield myself from the horrors,

Of the realms outside my purified grave,

I release a sigh

And pull the cloth back over my eyes