The Day It Died

The day it died
was not the day it was buried,
rather it happened without a trace
as a moment lasted for days
and its days unvaried
and numbered sighed.

"How can it be fair?"
it cried as the future loomed grim,
"How could I have lost
when to you I so dearly cost?
Did you pick over me a whim
or was I the whim for which
you'll soon cease to care?"

"I remember promises,
so beautiful and pure.
As their broken pieces I hold,
a final blow knocks hope out cold -
Is there no cure?
Or will curing instead break us?"

"Where have you arranged
to say goodbye?" it wept.
"Don't take me to somewhere nice
and let ruin overtake me by surprise;
or if you left while I, unaware, slept,
I might never love again."

The day it was buried
was the day it finally made peace
with the fact that it had at least
tried its best
to live.