deepundergroundpoetry.com

"The Sadman," (Sometimes He comes).

   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03cR1tAFSmQ
       Stainds' "Zoe Jane,"

Every now and then the
Sadman he comes and
tries to lull me away
into that room
The one where the
atmosphere is filled
with regret and gloom

And I know that if I
allowed myself to go
there then I'd only sit
with my head in my hands
and the tears like rain
and blood mixed would
fall and flow, red

That room where I'd think
about my daughters that I
don't get to see
Now 11 and 13
Living in Seattle
3600 miles away
But like from here to the
moon for me

Facebook a social-platform
where they and I chat is
the way that we now connect
and I get to see them grow
and hear all about what
they're doing is wonderful
but it can never take the
place of being there with
them in the moment, in
real-time

Seeing the light of their
eyes and feeling their
smiles
Talking for miles and miles
on end
I remember the time when I
was showing my 13 year old,
then 5 how to drive a standard
in my old beat-up truck
She looked up at me and said,
"Daddy, I Love Mommy and my
Grandpas and Grandma: but I
Love you the best,"

That's something that I'll
never forget, kept between she
and I

But I know that if I took the
Sadmans hand and let him lead me
into that room
The one filled with regret and
gloom, there I'd sit with my head
in my hands and the tears like
rain and blood mixed would flow,
red

But that's when I stop these
emotions and try to give them a
call instead and their voices are
like a refreshing rain, to me


          *About my daughters from my first marriage
           whom I haven't seen now, (face to face),
           in 5 years.
Written by hungrypan74 (Dantalyon)
Published
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