What if?

It's about a girl who wonders in those last precious moments before the water claims her life what she could have done, what life she could have lived.

Alas, my love, if I could make thou live,
And step up beside me.
How sweet the hour of my death will be,
And how sweet the cold touch of ice upon my skin,
As I struggle for breath.
So sweet the sensation of my lungs filling with the wretched water as my head is forced under by another,
Yet how sweet the sad birdsong as they watch my demise with sorrowful eyes.
but alas, morn me not
for how sweet the hour of death is for me.
and though thou might weep, forget me not.
for thoust will always be with me though hell and hurt.

And though my death dawns nearer still,
I cannot help but feel a powerful joy.
For how can one know what is awaiting in the next life until they venture forth themselves?
And alas, I will miss my love dearly so.
As I hear the cry of victory from my killer as I drift onto the next life,
And I wonder, what life would I have led, had I not been cruely murdered?
Had my life not be snatched from my very fingertips,
Would I have children? And how many?
Would my life be filled with the syrup and honey, or the vile bitterness?
This matters not to me now, for I have another life to live.
And I bid a silant farewell, and good ‘morrow.
How I only wish the morrow would be spent with you, my love.
And finally, the sorrow hit me like a ton of bricks.
The sorrow of the life I never experianced,
My love, the life with you I never had.
The sorrow flooded over me, and I was filled with vengance beyond my compassion.

Was it possible to ever save myself from a fate so sweet, yet so sorrowful?
I wonder, will they find my body in the ‘morrow?
Or in the next week?
Or will it forever lie, drowned and bedrangled, on the soft soil of the riverbed?
Will it flow downstream, to horrors unknown?
And so, will the news of my death ever come to my love?
Or will I forever be lost, part of history, soon to be forgotten?

Would you escape to yonder cavern, where your mistress lay, my love?
Would you see where my love?
Dost thou not believe, that I loved thee with all fibre of my existance?
But that dost not matter now; For my exsistance is over.
But I cannot help but wonder, what if?
What if?

Author's Note

This was one of the first poems I wrote so it's pretty bad... and yeah, it's not supposed to be a rhyming poem. (: