Cold Presence

A wall of stone.
A thousand bricks stacked end to end.
From the rick black soil clear up to the moon.
Parting the heavens above.
Thicker then the blue depths of the ocean.
A corner of secretness where no sunlight can gather.
It beats silently, searching in the darkness.
The solitude is one in its own. The wall is its savior, its trusted friend.
Its presence reassuring in its cold feel.
The way is its trusting feel, undefining in its nature, unrelenting in its comfort.
The door is sealed.
Only itself and the wall to trust.