Dancing Hard

We looked on her in sunshine
They laid her down in rain
Her body dark with toxins
Her face was aged by pain

But persistent visions
Revealed her truly

Her Lord lifting up wings
Not of angels, but of joy, strength
Purple robes of majesty on her brings
Full length and dancing hard

Earth in View

She loves the clouds
Sticking her neck into the sky
And shooting off to the second star on the right
She's only nineteen and nothing says loving
Like a good-looking Italian man
Arrogant, confident, and mysterious
She's "lucky" when he calls

Her momma pulls her ankle
Drags her to the ground
And wants her head in the sand
Feet on the ground
Why is it either clouds or ground
Can any middle air exist
Or is her caution not so tall

One can fly
If you know where the ground is
The horizon is the earth in view
Like Deadilous and Icharus
Years show the middle path
With eyes that know the scars
Of flying in the clouds and loosing sight of grounding

Anticipated Homecoming

I miss her voice
Not from a phone, but right in front of me
Alto vibrato in my ear

I miss her face
I'm tired of looking at pictures
I like the subtle play of her skin

I miss her touch
Her soft sure grasp and exciting warm kiss
Someone who knows how I react

I miss my friend
She'll be on the 4AM train and I'll
Be waiting anxiously at home

For her return of me

Pity

Herself
Buried
Inside-out

And smothered
Cannot sit

Or laying
Cannot breath

Dying from
The self outside her

She is too much
We are too late

I see her
Self killing
Perhaps already dead

I wonder...
I pity her...

Listen Well

His face fell as he got up and walked in front of silent waiting:
Broke the news of his departing, in his face was grieving wailing.
As he spoke, his hands were wringing
What, to him, was death's bell sounding.

But funeral bells don't sound so sweet,
Just empty clang and shuffling feet
Of mourners passing by
A stiff now wrapped in suit and tie.

No, the bell he rang was perhaps
A tad too high a key for taps.
He rang a reveille and morning call
For yet another day for all

So, when you think the bells are tolling,
Perhaps they ring a joyful peeling.

I wait

Cool breeze that
Issues forth from
Frosty lips
Refreshes, pleases, and caresses

My lips burn with fire
Burn the air around them
Hot vacuum of the thunder clap
In ears around me

I am become the double edged sword of the tongue

Adept at being loud
I talk. I charm. I ease

But it is time
To sheath the sword and listen

The time for vulnerable peace
On my face before You

So now I wait
In unfamiliar silent frailty
To see if

You
are my faith
You
are my life
You
are my job, my hope, my love

Do not sleep
Do not slumber
Do not let my foot slip
On the sword
I will fall on it without You

Of your own accord

I keep looking for the door
Not for going out, no
For coming in

I am here and wait
In powerful anticipation
Of the moment I see you

Yes, you may
Still come

Not to see me
But to come and be
Here
With me, yet
With more than me

We wait for you
To come and be

What you were
Just as you are
What you will be
Is enough

Brady

Pushing my pawns up the row
Waiting for mistakes
Seems we've played this game before

Waiting

To play dead
Is fine sometime
Instead of living
Mine I'd rather
Sing the blues
Waiting for some better shoes

Caught

Natural eaters
The mouse and the shrew
One in a trap
The other in glue

Grounded

The ugly seed
Reaching upward
About to break
The top soil

Roots extending
Downward looking
Osmosis flow
Dirty mineral wealth

The sky has light
Ethereal
Quantum food source
Clean energy

But 'till the leaves
Break from the ground
The earth was made
As life support

Manly Breakfast

6AM and the kitchen's quiet
Whistling as I start the day
Norm walks in and grabs the bacon
Soon the meat is on its way

Later Gary ambles in, checks his watch,
Decides to stay
Hash browns sizzle on the griddle
With his easy going way

Randal is the last to show
Waiting, waiting, last to go
Making eggs, their turn arriving,
Worth the wait, the men were starving

A Veil

Thankful for stable ground
I weep for the child
Covered with a cardboard box
Not for cover, but as a veil

The Rocks are Silent

As David danced before the ark,
So do they, with
Twirling flair and dizzy abandonment.
Arms are raised and some on the floor
Break-dancing hard
Because they can;
Children before the Lord.
His table sings with joy!

Fun

Copper Abraham
Tucked away
With emergency contingency
Waiting for my eyes
To see him
I am the only one who knows where
He sits awakened
To my joy
And idiotic pleasure at the
Secret

Sins of the Father

In the basement, gone for hours
Nose in book and writing hard
Working second
Seldom seeing, seldom seen
By children, wife
At outside functions, meetings, life
Passed him by and so did they
The son now does the same

Young Man Searching

I pissed off a dad today
His son's mouth was in the way
With words and actions touching down
That, when in my face, were not found
To be helpful, prudent, or productive
For the place for him I'd thought of
He has questions, anger, searching
For acceptance, even yearning
For some answers, deftly handled
For a mentor, men who know him

Hindering Operation

Two-by-six sits squarely in my ocular socket
Sticks out quite a ways
Seems to hinder operations
On the eyes of my close friends
Something scary in the sight of non-sight
Comin' at ya nice and close.

Don't misunderstand
I can see the bruises left by others
On the temples of your head
But careful approach and understanding
Still hits and wounds you
Like a two-by six up-side the head.

Fever Streptococci

Before the Sulfa craze, 1937,
How did any child
Make it past eleven?

Streptococcus,
Meningitis,
Everything, it seems, could kill us.

Playing tennis,
Coolidge' son died
Of the menace

Now I have my
Own full case of
Fever streptococci.

With ten days of penicillin,
I'll be feeling fine and chillin'.

Coffee

Second state of matter
Energized with baser states
Brown solid, liquid life

Physical Healing

Spiritual healing, the cop-out.
Physical healing is a need!
The hucksters make a show of it
With hands a flying, people falling.
Why do we, the true, not see it;
Cancer gone, eyes healed, ears opened wide!
Don't tell me about her soul, I want to see her healed!
Thomas got to touch His HEALED wounds. Why not she?

Shows

Thirty-two inch window
Shows her reality
In flickered frames
Too fast for her to see
Her view of life restricted
To channels six, and twelve, and three

Another

May I realize Your great love
Eternal life bought at a price
At Another's expense I live

May I accept it as my own
The cost for me deemed adaquate
I am worthy only through Him

May I demonstrate it to all
Their worth is like my own
I am herald of Another

My Love

You love me hard, you love me right
You love me in spite
Of my acknowledgment of you

Your ways and tender rock hard manner
Thoughtful planner
Put my forgetful ways to shame

It's all too much for a man
Trying, if he can,
To love you as he should

Lord knows, mine 'll never measure up
To your output, but still, I hope,
The little gestures count

Threes

Micheal Jackson
Farrah Fawcett
Ed McMahon, Hmmm...

Seven sons of Sceva

I weep for the boy in Connecticut
Seven sons of Sceva
Have left their mark on him
Did Jesus need to scream and shout
In total disregard
To safety, faith, and love

The boy is in distress
His mind and body had enough and vomits in response
The demons screaming in the ears
Of those still standing
Round the boy
The mob with millstones round their necks

How many times did Jesus say
To demons, "you get out"
He said it once and they obeyed
What lack of faith these "men" display
To shout and shout and shout
Not a mustard-seed in them all

What scares and angers me the most
What truly makes me boil
What keeps me up tonight
Keeps my pen to paper
Is the total lack of love and grousome advertisment
Makes you wonder who we're fighting

Room 39

More than foot pain (Right hip fractured and stitches on the brow)

More than her mind could bare (Night time crazy's in the corner talkin', talkin', talkin')

What lit her eye with fear (Tied tight for what the pills can't do)

Was loneliness and three grown sons who simply didn't care.

Draw!

Man in suspenders
Comb-over graying
Light blue polo shirt
Slight limp in the leg
Lump in the top back

Quick and piercing whit
Fast to blame draw
Wants it done today
Why not yesterday
Indignant scowling

Point and shoot the quick smile

1 'n 3

Start a singin'
Hands a raise'n
Clap'n on the 1 'n 3
Jesus hear ya
Come and get ya
In that sweet, sweet melody

Love Note

Amore, Αγάπη, Liebe, or Love
They all fail to adequately
Convey the way you move
In my soul, in my life, Beauty

Go to Hell

He didn't come to save the pharasies
He didn't come to heal the well
He came to save both you and me
... And let the "good" ones go to Hell

Countdown to Final Flight

four emails
three calls home
two days
one man who misses his wife and kids

Sometimes

Talk to walls
'Cause sometimes
You gotta love 'em
Without them lovin' you

Almond Sweetly

Prolonged cynicism rots well
Turning arsenic almond sweetly
All that brushes words, thought, and writing
With the happy death bomb rotting

Garçon de Quatre Ans

His grin
Is gone, replaced
With open horror
Bleeding in
The hole that was his face

His mother
Bleeds next door
Eyes open wide to the wall
Still seeing medics pick
Her son up off the grass

Her arms
Now forming scars
Were not enough
To wrench life from its jaws
It tore him ear from ear

Tesla and My Wood Stove

Tesla had a good idea
Send particles jumping on the wires
Two steps forward, one step back
From Niagara to my doorstep
Saving me from soot
And the smoking piece of shit wood stove in my basement!

Did you hear?

Tents are out, way out, this year.
The canvas trades need not apply
For cushy jobs at crystal pulpits.

Remebered Breath

Son of dust
Walk the dirt in bare feet
Powdered proof of past sins covering your toes
Your father's father's father in contact with your skin
Reminding you of the immortality and circular resurrection of the body
But not the soul

Son of dust!
Recount the varied histories within your own two feet
The double helixed chains that bind you to the earthen bodies sifting by
Say to Me, "I am the product of my heritage and nothing now can save me."
Say to Me, "I am all mud and dust-to-bones!"
But not your soul!

Son of dust
Remember breath that first gave life to clay and dirt
Your father's father's father's breath still resonates within your lungs
Gives life from life, from life to you, and those whose breath is yet to come
I am the source of breath-of-breath from dust to dust and life to life
And of your soul

Son of dust you have begun, but son of God you'll be.

Anticipation

Sunshine water on the window
Lapping at the dirt and grime.
Indoor typing, submarining,
Wanting to go jumping, wading.

Jacob's Angel

Years spent wrestling Jacob's angel!
"Talk to me, you silent bastard!"

Three o'clock Boy o.d.'s on drugs;
You wake my dreaming, "pray now and witness!"

Years of silence!
"Let me hear you!"

Weeping Doctor at a mirror;
You tell me dreaming, "do as I told you!"

Wrestling still!
"Until you bless me!"

Twelve o'clock man dances with joy;
You whisper waking, "death is coming."

Attained and hurting.
"Please, no more."

A Warning

take a tiger by the tail
pull it hard and hear it wail
round it comes and sees you standing
clears up all misunderstanding

Uneasy Premonition

Task master whips the hide off mine
Reminding me of visions past
Unacted on for fear of death
His... acts joyous and elated
Over the top and confident
His body ended on the ground
First in prayer, then with God.

The Changling

ate together, conversation
fish and chips, 'bout this and that
and mountain dew, the German language
buttered veggies, lederhosen
wiped the mouth, glad to see ya
and walked away. 'nough said.

ate together, conversation
diet soda, new breasts
fruit and water, grow the hair out
crystal light, a touch of makeup
napkin corners, "catch up honey"
sauntered out. a wave goodbye.

Solitude (v2)

White walls washed with plain intentions
Small box pushes colored pictures
No sound from the box or bed

White noise from the outside chatter
Coded colors from the ceiling
Other voices, not for her

White face stuck with no expression
Voiceless visage in the sheets
Colors may be in her mind

Generations

When I was four, a generation died
Chips and gifts are all I remember of him.
The stale room of old carpet, old TV, old glasses, older man

At thirty, the next generation died
Cards and stories are what I remember
The fair, cartoons, and weeks of time with older man

The next one's Dad, how much more time
On his knee, in his arms, soaking up time with an older man
Taught by, loved by, and guided by an older man

God willing, when my turn comes in time
Cards, stories, knees, laps, arms and time with me, an older man,
Will be remembered by generations whose time is yet to come and yet to be.

silent noise

decorative ears wants somthing to sleep
much noise from the one in the corner
thoughts are too slow from imperfect mouth
the fingers that do all the talking
moving too fast for decrative ears
confined to the sheets that are binding

curly haired girl

her eyes
the only things that sing
louder than her voice
which peals down the hallway
after her
footsteps die away
the walls return
incandescent normalcy
illuminating reality
peeling back fantasy
her laughter heals heartache
not her mother's cancer.

Lexi

her new word is sideways vision
gestered with a wild hand sign
proudest of the sideways glances
eyes are flashing with aheivment

face is flush with icey covered
scarf that barley hides her joyous
words from tumbling over frozen
lips that gush forth sledding danger

loss of time is quickly made up
on the floor and playing horses
dad is here and good for climbing
let's play cars while sipping tea

Karis

Rubies crown her head
Gently flowing down
Alabaster skin
Touching setting off
Saphires on her face

Shooter

He bleeds on me, over the desk
his arm is fresh from violence,
self-inflicted self-righteousness
now flowing from him, mouth and body
spewing anger, onto my desk,
onto my skin, into my ears
his rantings blurred into a run
on sentence, now he turns and walks away
mumbling something loud, the blood
now dripping on the floor, it splats
and smacks his shoe and stains his shirt,
a hand is back right at my nose,
i smell soiled comprehension
in his voiceless plea for "help me,"
a dangerous desperation,
fails to stop my inner need
to shut him up and clean his mess,
to cleanse my arm, to cleanse my soul
from the blood he spills next weekend,
more than just his own.

Nothing too big

I hesitate...
to ask for what?
A miracle
Of any size,
A smile, hope
Of consequence.
A lack of trust
For easy things,
Nothing too big
Like pigs that fly,
A mother well,
A child healed.
I hesitate
To ask for what?
The little things
'Cause I can't see
God doing them...
Especially for me.

Second Time 'Round

No more panic, no sleeplesness
No "how-do-I-even-begin"
I've done this once, I've got it down
I know what to expect... so why am I
Anxiously nervously hesitent
To dive back into what I've known
My name is "dad"
No matter who calls on me the
Second time 'round

Soot

Cold winter nights warmed by the sweat of summer days
That lingers on my cloths, but mostly in my hair
The musty smell of soot and oily blackness from the pipe
Has stained my fingers and my face
Fire cooled, stainless steel filtered, wood juice
I rub it through my hair completely satisfied and watch it drip
Onto the stove
Like vapor-rub it opens up my nose and settles in my chest
I contemplate the joy no cubicle could bring

What it brings

October comes and brings with it
Thoughts of pennents, plasticed windows;
Thrill of moment, thoughts of winter;
Popping viens and whithered wallet;
Stress on screen and worry at home.

Quiet Man (part3)

His eyes are still
But moving back
And seeing things as they once were,
His daughter young again.
The lack of years show in her eyes,
Unbridled joy and happiness
Flow from her hands onto his skin,
Her arms wrapped 'round
His neck so tight he'd hardly breath
If breath were on his mind,
But all he knows is what she knows
The joy of "daddy's home!"

Quiet Man (part2)

The ring on his left hand
Has been their for a while.
A simple band of gold
Shines like it's never gone
A day without a little work
To keep it in its prime.
A smile here and there
Escapes his lips while on
The phone still polishing his ring
With kind soft words of love.
Contentment's on the other end
Still polishing her ring.

Quiet Man

His form is slightly gaunt.
His hair is all but gone.
His eyes are grey, but still
Give off a spark of blue.
His hands are brown with age,
And spots show now on top
Of muscles in decline.
A flanel shirt hangs by
His desk and keeps him warm
When things get cold, but in
His eyes, his greying eyes,
You see that spark of blue.

Tell the Dirty Jokes (r2)

(the tax collector prays out loud)

Too articulate
For the simple minded fool
You all sit and fart

Ideas covered
In the wrapping paper of
Academia,
Expelling noxious
Symphonies as your haughty
Neck holes suck the air.

Damn it! Speak it through
As it really is in life.
Spare me pretentious
White-washed lyric lies,
The fantacy of "polite,"
And sit in the mud.

Do not be too big
To dance in the sty of man.
Tell the dirty jokes;
Drink a few wrong things;
And never forget ladies
Need a warm bed too.

Sleep (part3)

Dry bones from dust, and flesh from bones,
The sinews come, and sockets form,
The carriages of carrion are now forming
My soulless shell.

It is pulled from the grasping ground,
Most unwillingly it hovers
For a moment, only slightly
Hesitating, masquerading
As a puppet of the earthen.

Far from sealing the Casket of my Soul, you revive me.

Pulling me directly from her,
Muscles twitching from the effort,
Breaking bones in my own fingers
To loose the grasp I have on death.

Begin the sweet seduction of my wandered soul.
Entice the life back to this form.
Let joy, forgotten, move within
My fallen members with delight.

Pissing on the wall

It reaches out with shiny wings,
That yellow arch of social grace
Which hits the wall and scatters light,
Showers the ears with joyous song
Played by the middle finger who
Resents the clothes we wear for cover,
We are ashamed/afraid of it.

If only we could come to terms,
Social graces and the finger,
To find a way to learn with joy,
With moderation and a zeal,
What God design the pleasures for;
Not just for writing on the wall.

Look me in the eyes

(a quick study in octosylabic line)

Yesterday,
I chased away a preacher man.
I 'd heard him speak his piece of mind
and it was time for him to go.

He'd cornered three young men and talked
at length about their place with God
and how their church was false and how
their elders should be pressed and pushed,
questioned for the truth denied them.

“Your monks have no idea where
the path of true salvation lies,”
he said with upmost piety.

He then pulled out some pamphlet tracks,
collected in a plastic box,
with tabs and colored pencil marks,
showing him all the answers plain-
passing them on without a glance.

Here is the one on Jesus Christ-
you know his name but not the man.
Here is the one on sinfull lust-
you know the feelings that you have.
Here's the one that is the best-
it shows the blood and guts and gore
you may have seen in Mell's new flick-
he says without a glance,
handing them up to open hands.

I could not take it anymore
and tapped him on the shoulder once-
almost as if to say hello,
but not enough to cause alarm.

“Do you attend here?” I said straight
and looked him in the eyes to see
if what I had seen as pridefull
sin was simply over-zelous talk.

“I'm here now,” he said with a grin
and quickly turned his head
back to his box of colored tabs,
his figures never sitting still.

“Are you a membere here?” I said
to his back in a sterner way.
This time he paused and never looked-
just said his piece, matter-a-fact,

“I attend many churches here
in the city,” and continued
never breaking in his serman
to the boys who were polite.

“I think these guys are busy now,"
I said in a darker tone that
implied that he should leave...
"Their youth leader can, I'm sure'
guide them where they need to go'
without your help or idle talk.”

He never paused, but took his pack
and started to get up.
He turned his heal and left the church
without a single word.

I wonder why he would not stop
to talk to me, but simply hit
the younger ones who would not fight
or do the things he said
like question him and wonder why
he would not look them in the eye?

But not tonight...

The first few weeks when no one sleeps,
The next few months when days are long,
The many years when they're not long enough,
Are all mixed in here, in the moment of this song,
From inside, on the top, and in between
Of every broken line.
~

Tonight, the hours
Tick on by as slowly as
My daughter's crying seems to ebb.
Her notes are piercing in
The native accuracy to my heart,
But now my heart is warmer, toughened, by her cry.
For sure,
Her voice is stronger
than I was.

There is no surer touch
Than that of a father
Who knows his daughter well.
There is no shakier touch
Than that of a dad
Who's just found out he is one.

My shakes have lessened since
The first few weeks when
Holy terror locked my muscles
Past the point of mental break,
So scared I was that she would fall
And hit the floor, a thud, a whimper, nothing more,
Or lean her head back like a whip
And crack her neck and cease to breath.
I'd lie awake and watched her chest
Heave back and forth, slowly deep,
And place my hand upon her chest
To feel the lie
My eyes had told me.

Her eyes, a slated gray,
Had seemed too large
For the frail frame
That wrapped around them.

Her fingers, translucent threw
The light that washed her face
Of every color, but the ones I saw,
grasped out and grabbed me by the hand,
though I had hardly felt a thing.

I brought them home.
Her mother's courage brought us
Safely by those next ordeals
That were close at hand.

But now I know
She's made of tougher stuff
And so am I
We breath, we live, we'll die,
But not tonight.

~not fini

Sing in my ears.

(his song)

When will tomorrow get here
When today floats heavy on the sweat

Sitting on my chest
And pounding in my head
Fears of death
And your life without me

Sing in my ears
And tell me shallow
Touch me deep
Of love

I go insane
And space and time are drawn
Slightly out of step
With one another
In the wiring of my mind
I try to follow
Confusing beats

Your eyes, your heart
My head, my pain
Make too much sense

For a boy, now a dad

Telling his wife, “I’m okay.”
Assuring tomorrow
(but today?)

Love is here
Skin to skin
You rub me
Rhythmically in circles
Down my back

I turn
Your eyes
They tell me silent things
You cannot hide
Your fear of my fear
You know me
Deeply

Knowing more of us than you let on

(Seven years ago we --- Five years ago we ---
Two years ago we ---)

Mumbled, drowsy, half-
Awake to what (?)
I need
You

Sing to me
Hope for tomorrow because
Today it floats heavy on my sweat

Now.

Now it’s time to grow up,
But who’d ‘a thought that meant bills?
The windows leak my money to the street.
A sheet of plastic cures my blues.

Lord! Grow’n up seemed such a treat
When I was yet to drive,
Bricks were tied to my feet.
The roads the were short and narrow.

But now the drive is in the dark
And I come home, the lights turned off.
Can’t keep them burning
Money, now in short supply.

Thought He Remembered it True

(be carefull who remembers)

A husband is glad to be finally rid
Of a wife who is glad to be finally rid,
Of a life that he chose to be part of.

He skips and he sings as he walks down the road,
Care free enjoyment of nothing at all,
Nothing to guide him and nothing to be,
No place to go to and no where to lie,
A marvelous heaven, displayed like a hell,
Is stretched out before him and wonderfully bare.

He must have been crazy to leave such a life.
His dinner was ready, right promptly at six,
In the morning while we were asleep.
He worked in a place, at the top of his field,
At the peak of his form, he gathered up pieces
Of people that nobody wanted.

He moved far away, just a mile or two,
And suddenly found no one home.
His walls were now full of the things he could do,
But he sat and remembered, remembered it through
Clear to the bone and back up the flesh.
He thought he remembered it true.

So he packed up his bags and moved closer to town.
Cleveland, the city it shined.
He bought a new house, dressed it up like a home,
And promptly decided to call
All the people he knew, had a grand ‘ol time,
In a house full of nothing to do.

He frolicked and played in his new found wealth
Bought at the price of his life,
But he always looked back at the happy days
When they were still husband and wife.

Rabbits.

Rabbit liver was the best.
Its stronger taste was from
the iron and the other stuff
that passed on through its spongy purple meat.

At least that’s what our mother said,
And she would know,
and so
we ate it all.

Every morsel, every bite,
of rabbit that we ate,
we knew where it had come from.

Dad had shown us how to take
a rabbit from the cage,
none of them had names,
and tie its feet
up to the nail that was hammered in the wall.

Next you’d stretch its neck and whack away,
a good strong shot into the spin,
and watch it twitch awhile till it stopped
and then you’d slit its throat
and let the blood run out in streams
and splatter on the driveway,
blacktop,
by the hose and faucet.

Dad would take his knife
and carve it up the middle,
the rabbit, calm and never moving.
He would reach in
and pull out
gobs of stringy stuff,
red and pink and squishy warm.

He’d let us try it too
and show us all the wonders
of the insides of an animal
who’d only recently stopped breathing.

The gall bladder, which was never missed
and never broken,
green and small and foul smelling,
was thrown away into the trash
can first.

Its rancid taste
was bitter bad and ruined all the meat.

We marveled at its power to destroy
the joy
that we had killed an animal to produce.

He’d take a handful of the fur and, with a yank, would start
to peel off the clothing of our dinner,
strip it bare,
and then
dissect the choicest parts of that night’s curry.

Hot and spicy it would tingle
as it passed our lips and mingled,
made us thankful for the fact we were not
rabbits.

Sleep (part1)

You evade me now, cruel mistress of my sanity.
I can smell you, see you, taste you, but I cannot feel you.
You seem to whisper in my ear and in my mind you’re near,
But when I reach for you, you are not there, a mist in dream.

How I long to be in your willing arms, in your warm grasp.
Your delicate and tender legs that once enfolded me,
Your sweet face that, in the deep, glows with sweet serenity,
Are in my recent memory, but now am pained to see.

Reassuring me, with sweet and soothing words, you lulled me.

Alas, I am in constant agony. My strength is broke.
A counterfeit has grabbed me from your side, your warm embrace.
She will not let me go, nor let me go to be with you.
I am undone and powerless to come to you again.

Bring me back into possession of my-self dear lady.
Restore me to your bed; that I might be with you and yours.
Come loose the bonds and chains of consciousness that have me tied.
Come touch me with your hand and free me from all earthly cares.