Dreaming under the grass

The velvet earth is thick and deep, a quiet pillow for my sleep. Above, the stems of emerald sway, to hide the remnant of the day. I’ll never watch the morning rise again, nor feel the light upon my eyes, yet here beneath the woven green, my world is calm, my heart serene.

For through the dark, a whisper slips, a lullaby from gentle lips. Her voice drifts down, a tender thread, to wrap around my silent bed, and brush away the missing sun now that the day and night are one.

She sings of peace, she sings of rest, and folds the silence to my chest. I do not crave the golden skies, where only fading warmth relies; I find my warmth inside her tone, and dream content, though under the grave.

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