Soft

It presses in soft
That words can never cross
Like a river 'round a coffin
You so willingly wear for loss
Of keen at hand of dreams
And loss of greatness
For warming velveteen
That brightens over consciousness

Settles in loft
Suspended:
Will I lose myself again?
Will Be inspired again?
Who am i that wrote that then?
Who am i now i can't?

And it settles in soft
The peace that places hope
In pestilence and dope