Blanket

It is soft and warm enough,
wrapped in blankets,
indulging my weariness,
safe from judgement,
and futile duties,
hiding from sun and earth.
Imagining that the darkness
of closing my eyes,
is the whole world,
where I can travel alone,
and all that is in it
can be controlled.
But a restlessness taps
upon my inner walls,
and is echoed by the
pitching of the hull,
knocked and rolled by waves,
making every untied thing a projectile.
And though I strain to keep
this other world out, I am
still haunted by the knowing
that my courseless ship,
is prey to wind and rock,
whose consequence cannot be
lessened by blanket.