Standing alone in the
silence of time,
heavy air settles on me.

Only at night
when the coldest breeze blows,
and my memories wont let me be.

Like a blanket knitted
by grandmas two hands,
made of wool white as the snow.

On my shoulders it rests
like a shelter from fright,
it covers and keeps me in tow.

This heavy night air
does not push me down
nor my knee causing to bend.

It surrounds me completely
holding me up,
for my eyes to witness the end.

I wonder if during
my ultimate slumber,
if the earth is weighty and cold?

Will I even care
that heavy night air
once embraced now nothing to hold?

Copyright © 2007 Ronald J. Edwards