Steel Drum

I'm a steel drum in frozen wasteland.
The shell, rusted, snow drifted over
as my blanket.
The sacred white sheet wraps me up,
prepares me for the sleep.
This steel drum is empty.
The air inside is still and bites the bare hand
that reaches for the illusion of the heart,
pumping at the pace of tired lungs.
Sleep and feel the dreams.
Where there is no more pain.