I am the sum of years and echoes,
forty-four winters deep,
twenty-one of them spent being “Dad.”
Two lives that came from love I no longer live inside,
yet I still carry every heartbeat they gave me.
---
Love, loss, and light — it all lives in me.
(repeat or echo softly twice)
---
I’ve poured ink instead of tears,
bled sweat instead of words,
trying to remember who I was before I became
everything for everyone.
My first two taught me patience and purpose,
made a fighter out of a boy still haunted
by the ghosts of his own childhood.
Then came her — the woman who reopened the door,
the storm that built a softer world.
Together we made another daughter,
pure light, pure laughter.
And just when I thought I’d learned the rhythm,
life gave me a son I never planned,
a mirror I wasn’t ready to face.
---
Love, loss, and light — it all lives in me.
---
I was the first hand to touch him,
then gone for seven days —
a hospital bed, a heart holding on.
I came back thinner in body, heavier in soul.
Seven days that rewired me.
Seven days that turned love into survival.
Now I stand here,
half a century of lessons carved into my skin.
I’ve loved two women fiercely,
both in different lifetimes,
both still alive inside me somehow.
It’s not that I stopped loving them —
I just can’t find the fire that used to sing.
---
Love, loss, and light — it all lives in me.
---
Maybe my trauma taught me to protect more than connect.
Maybe I’m better with creatures who speak through energy —
dogs, kids, souls that don’t lie.
I move like them: instinct first,
truth before tradition,
raw before polite.
I’m not made for this world of filters and fear.
I’m animal and ink.
I’m spirit and scar.
I’ve built peace, lost it, rebuilt again.
I’ve chosen life even when it didn’t feel like mine.
So if you hear this —
know it isn’t a sad song,
it’s a plea for understanding.
How a man can break twice
and still rise loving.
How he can hold his children close
but let their mothers go with grace.
How he can live between love and loneliness
and still whisper thanks.
Because the ink remembers what we forget —
the blood, the fight,
the quiet beauty of simply staying.
---
Love, loss, and light — it all lives in me.
-
Author:
Poetic Dan (
Offline) - Published: August 8th, 2026 03:59
- Comment from author about the poem: Nearly a year ago I wrote this and 2 years ago i survived it
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
A poetic confession felt in this raw write of a life being a square peg in a round hole. Well done and a fave
That means alot my friend. As this wave I am still riding and the words bring me to tears as this love turns to something unknown! And a hope to not end up alone.
My pleasure Dan
Dan, this hit me hard. There’s a lifetime being carried here...fatherhood, love, survival, heartbreak, gratitude, and the sheer determination to keep choosing life through all of it. Powerful and deeply human, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️
It is life as we write and cry! Then carry on carrying on and truly appreciate your time my friend
Dan, I've been on this site over five years now. And I know of at least some of the troubles you have been through. Though If I read you right you have reached some kind of reconciliation and peace despite it all. More power to you, man.
Of the poem itself I only need add that it delivered a rich message.
I did when I wrote this and I'm sure I can step there again! Thank you for being here my friend and yes over 10 years of dribbling my pain but for what I see in life! Many suffer but don't tell a soul. I do hope you are well and thank you again for being here my friend
So pleased for you Dan, I am sure all will be fine.
Andy
Thank you my friend. It will be what it will always be
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