On the day that I do die
A piece of poetry about a life unfinished, a death that came too soon, and a love that was not accomplished
On the day that I do die, there is something that I would have planned to say
when I arrive in front of Saint Peter sometime on the following day.
He would probe me with many varieties of questions about my life thus far; questions I would have to answer,
as to ascertain that I was not a danger to Heaven, and so would not spread through paradise like a cancer.
I do not know if I would provide to the man the answers that he did seek,
but the words I would say would come from my heart when I eventually did speak;
I lost one woman because I loved and cherished and cared for her too much,
and the last thing I ever felt was when our lips did passionately touch.
I lost the second woman I adored because I did not love her enough,
and on the day we left each other, my heart felt so barren, broken and rough.
The third and final woman that I loved could not allow a relationship to be,
and the day I died I was in love with a woman who could never truly love me.
I do not know if she felt anything for me; joy, anger, sadness, remorse, the day that I did die,
all that is for certain, is that until that day, I never realised a young woman could make you cry.
An ocean of endless tears constantly fell across my face as I frequently wept,
whilst at the same time, the one woman of my dreams, she happily partied, drank and slept.
I do not know if she did hate me, or if I happened to cause her absolute disgust,
but always I did believe in my heart, who said she was the one, so my heart I did trust.
I read once that we choose who to love, for love is but a chemical, and we give such a powerfully romantic emotion meaning by choice,
but in this circumstance it was not my decision to love her; I simply fell for her beauty, her intellect, her professionalism, her voice.
From the moment I first laid eyes on her, she was undeniably and constantly in my thoughts,
for if there was such a thing as the web of love, in hers, like a fly, I had been officially caught.
However, I do not know if she was capable of romance, or if she was focused solely on her career,
and even though I am now officially dead and gone from the world, this is the one thing I still frequently fear,
for even though I can no longer be hers, I still wish for her to experience and feel true love,
and from now until she eventually finds ‘the one’ I will always look down on her from up above.
She believes that upon meeting the man of her dreams, the both of them shall fall in love immediately,
and I do suppose that I am, to this day grievously disappointed, that such a man could not be me.
Maybe when I was alive, I was simply not destined to be the man to give to her a life of romance,
but now that I do think about it, never in life did she provide to me one single, miserable chance.
When the sun did set, she would go with her friends to bars and clubs in an attempt to ‘reel in’ Mr. Right,
whilst I was willing to give her absolutely everything she ever wanted, every day and night,
and if I could not provide all that she had wanted, then I would have done my very best
to give to her a life that at night would allow her to sleep soundly and happily rest.
However, on no occasion did I see a line of men queuing up in the hope of being forever hers,
for only I had shown such interest, so why could she not be with me – why could she not be with this young sir?
Perhaps if she had been able to love me, in fact, I am certain of it, my heart would not have committed suicide and I would not be dead,
but, even if this be the truth, I will only ever love this one ravishing, gorgeous young woman, I will never love anyone else instead.