Treehouse Poetry

A Man And His Long Road

I close the door softly behind me

He closes the door silently,

I tighten the grip of my coat

He doesn't know I watch him from the window,

Opening the door to my truck I give the house one last look

I wish I could read his mind like a book,

Starting the engine forces my truck to roll down the long road

I hope he knows that without him here this house will be cold,

The sun is cut in half by a distant horizon pregnant with snow

It's sad that he'll never know,

Somewhere in my lap the hair pin trigger is calling

I believe this winters snow will not be the only thing falling, 

The night haunts me, the sadness that none can see

He hid his pain so well that even I thought he was finally free,

As I grasp the guns handle while driving this old truck

He must think none of us gives a simple fuck,

Like rain that cascades down a childs window during a storm

I wish someone better was there for him when he was born,

My tears show a pain, a pain so unbearable at times

He hurts just as the winds whine,

I have moments I wish I could cut the pain away

I know he suffers a great deal and he just wants to be away from the light of day,

Letting my blood kiss the earth

I know he has wishes to reject his birth, 

There's a stop sign ahead

I wonder if he knows I read his note which sadly detailed his death bed,

I glance at the instrument of death counting one in the chamber

I wish I could get rid of that death hanger, 

Slowly I press on the gas

Maybe he'll find the strength to let these feelings pass,