Hold My Chains And Warm My Face Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Windmills on the back of the earth,
My eyes half asleep,
My other senses half bled and lazing like well
Pallid damsels with beautiful breasts
Distressed in the sepia of
Snow storms
And all of that and dim lights
And the patterns of woodland canopies flickering:
And I have done no wrong,
And look at my bank account,
Yet I am celibate and extremely alone:
I am so alone,
And there is nothing romantic about it,
But if I had a wife and children,
Wouldn’t I be just as far gone,
Misplaced over the railroads and fields
Of Easter eggs,
Like the swings waiting in the cold park,
Still waiting
And waiting as if for resurrection day,
For the girl to come and sit
And hold my chains
And warm my face.