On a Cushion of Air
Silently it floats through time, With an air that makes it seem sublime, It reaches far in nook and cranny, With little or no regard for granny, Over and around all things, On its everlasting wings, Emerging from an unknown place, An awesome being without a face, It brings out the fear in us all, When we feel its whitewashed wall, Its clinging hand leaves nought alone, Not even those upon the throne, It dulls the strength of every sound, And makes you lose sight of the ground, Its moist glove welcomes every log, The blanket everyone calls fog.
Mathew Rush