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 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."


"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.


Now, I breathe my last breath of air, because all life is only despair.

Poetry by Damon
Read 946 times
Written on 2010-03-29 at 00:24

Tags Death  Cemetery  Dying 

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Nancy Sikora
This is simple but powerful. It's a good thing you wrote it so long ago; otherwise, I'd be up all night worrying about whether there was something I should "do" about it.