I originally wrote Mourning based on a song that I heard by Clint Black and posted it on another site. After my wife died a few weeks ago, I revised it just a little and have decided to post it here as well.
I wish this was a river bank instead of a cemetery.
We could go fishing like we used to do.
Now you lye here in your cold dark grave.
I can only talk and imagine what you would say in return.
"I went to town yesterday-bought a new shotgun.
Maybe next time I come-I'll show it to you.
Right now I'm getting mighty blue.
I am going fishing and wet a line may catch a fish for you--possibly even two."
Later
"Hi Hon! I'm back again. Like I promised I brought my new gun.
I caught you a fish yesterday and ate it too.
I cooked it just like you used to do.
Do you remember how we ate those fish that you cooked for me?
I get so tired carrying on these one-sided-conversations with you, but I wanted you to see
My new gun and hear it the first time I shoot it too.
Listen now, as I come to join you.
KABOOM!
Now, I breathe my last breath of air, because all life is only despair.
Poetry by Damon
Read 1005 times
Written on 2010-03-29 at 00:24
Tags Death  Cemetery  Dying 
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Mourning--Revised!
I wish we were fishing from a river bank.I wish this was a river bank instead of a cemetery.
We could go fishing like we used to do.
Now you lye here in your cold dark grave.
I can only talk and imagine what you would say in return.
"I went to town yesterday-bought a new shotgun.
Maybe next time I come-I'll show it to you.
Right now I'm getting mighty blue.
I am going fishing and wet a line may catch a fish for you--possibly even two."
Later
"Hi Hon! I'm back again. Like I promised I brought my new gun.
I caught you a fish yesterday and ate it too.
I cooked it just like you used to do.
Do you remember how we ate those fish that you cooked for me?
I get so tired carrying on these one-sided-conversations with you, but I wanted you to see
My new gun and hear it the first time I shoot it too.
Listen now, as I come to join you.
KABOOM!
Now, I breathe my last breath of air, because all life is only despair.
Poetry by Damon
Read 1005 times
Written on 2010-03-29 at 00:24
Tags Death  Cemetery  Dying 
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
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