A Sense of Loss

We look back down the misty years,

Live once more those long gone days,

Probing, examining, breathing life

Into memories through the haze.

The ache of favors not performed,

The regret for praise left unsaid,

And kindnesses we wish we'd done

For those now long among the dead.

It wasn’t due to indifferent neglect

We had no way to foresee events,

We aren’t gifted with clairvoyance,

So why should we now sit and lament?

We didn’t fire the fatal bullet

Plan the ambush or hurl the grenade,

The war, itself, was not of our making;

That decision was by others made.

The religions in which we all believe

Tell us that the deceased are free,

No longer encumbered by the cares

That still beset you and me.

So why do we mourn their passing,

Why do we feel such lasting grief,

When we should be happily rejoicing

At the advent of their final relief?

Do we miss the familiar voices,

The friendly touch we no longer feel?

Even our companionable silences

Held an affinity that was truly real.

All these sighs and lamentations

As we sit here sad and forlorn;

Disguise a truth we may not admit:

That it's really for ourselves we mourn.

© 12/9/2004 Thurman P. Woodfork