The Blanket

 

I am but a blanket, more than mere cloth and weave,

Woven not just with threads, but with whispers that cleave

To the soft echoes of a thousand human hearts,

A silent confidant where solace imparts.

I cradle the shivers that steal through the night,

A guardian of warmth against the cold's bitter bite.

For those with no home, I offer a humble embrace,

A shield from the wind in a desolate space.

I whisper warmth to a sleeping child's softest breath,

A gentle lullaby, warding off fear and death.

And for the weary, I offer silent comfort's sway,

Rocking them softly until the dawn of a new day.

My fibers know the weight of sorrow's long night,

Absorbing the salty tears of quiet despair's plight.

Each tremor, each sigh, each unspoken plea,

Held close within me, for all the world to see

A tapestry of resilience, stitched strong and true,

Where fragments of pain find solace anew.

I have felt the intricate dreams of the lonely soul,

The vibrant, gentle laughter of hope making spirits whole.

I've known the cold indifference of the world's chilling gaze,

Yet I do not fray, nor fade through endless days.

In my deepest folds, secrets quietly hide,

Of lives intricately built, and those tragically denied.

Of comfort given freely, a boundless, tender flow,

And small mercies clung to in the deepest, darkest glow.

I shelter the newborn's first trembling cry,

A soft, warm cocoon beneath a watchful sky.

I guard the fragile sleep of the aged, worn and slow,

A final, tender warmth where life's gentle currents flow.

I am both witness and solace, in the breathless hours of night,

A silent observer of life's dimming and its emerging light.

Yet, I am no stranger to the shadows of misuse,

My threads pulled and stained by unthinking abuse.

By hands that forget the profound truth I hold,

That warmth is not for sale, nor comfort to be sold.

A stark reminder of kindness, casually cast aside,

By those who view solace as merely a commercial tide.

Still, I refuse to vanish, to surrender my form,

For even in the hardest winters, weathering every storm,

I remain an emblem of kindness, pure and unbent,

A testament to the quiet strength of care, Heaven-sent.

I persist, a silent promise, woven deep within,

That even when hope seems lost, warmth can always begin.

So let the night be long, let the world be cold and vast,

My steadfast presence will eternally last.

I will be here, a steadfast echo of humanity’s gentle soul,

A warm, unwavering presence, making spirit