Remove my garment stained with sin
Drape me in clothing spun by angels in the whitest of threads
Pluck my eyes out, cleanse them with blood before placing them back in my skull
Bind my hands together, so that the right hand nor the left stray from their tasks
Nail my feet to the path you chose for me
Sew my lips together
Kiss them and breathe on them, so foul language will never escape
Children, more like toddlers run down the hall underneath large blue streamers hosting silhouettes of sea turtles and whale sharks. Chasing after them, my body rebels. At 49, every part of my body moves in protest. Worse yet, there's no comfort in rest. My legs want to swim while me head desires a pillow. Those eight hours of sleep do not exist in my world. When I wake, my back cries out. Guess this old age. My new job is to embrace it.
