Won’t you come daughter my son doesn’t come and see me
I can’t see the sun and I lost everyone who needs me
What I’ve said and done have come back to haunt me
I may be helpless but I won’t believe it can break me
Years ago my sun had been setting
when I took a walk to the creek
And lying beyond, across in the meadow
was your mother with weathered hair
that the wind blew across her cheek
A form like a man dropped her hand,
turned to me and winked.
Before I could reach her,
before I had time to think.
And it was the second time I lost her
the second time her will displayed
that I was better off without her
that it was just means to an end
that took her away.
My bed isn’t a meadow
my sheets are the grass
that doesn’t change
I lie down
but rest doesn’t
My heart wants to rest
but my mind to confess
on many things.
But not what you
or anyone else
might seem to think.
For each hour I pray
that the things I’ve
done can be taken
by those who possess
the means to conceive
that the things we do
are just things
we do in need
I just need some water
and a little food to eat
I don’t want your sorrow
I don’t want your gravity
I just need to hear the stirring
where once I heard your feet
on the floor near the couch beside me
in the arms of a golden dream.