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A Poem on Death and Dying – by Jeremiah Williams

Where would I be, if I wasn’t me,

Maybe a pirate, who conquers the seas,
Or maybe a sailor who has a disease,
I might be a warrior, so thin and strong,
I might be a genius who’d never be wrong,

I might be a dancer, as light as the air,
I might drive a taxi, and life would be fare,
Or maybe a pilot, soaring the skies,
or perhaps a prophet, who hides behind lies,

I would have had different parents,
One’s who raised me with grace,
I would have been wealthier,
And had exquisite taste,

If I’d been more loved,
And given more attention,
I’d probably be president,
And create the best inventions,

If I’d been more kind,
And knew what I know,
Life would’ve been easy,
Not a treacherous road,

If I’d been more forgiving,
I would surely have found,
That once it is done,
It comes back around,

If I hadn’t been shy,
I’d have many more tries,
At laughing and loving,
And touching the skies

There’d be more happy endings
When all seemed so lost,
I would have done less pretending
Whatever the cost.

I’d definitely be happier
At least half of the time,
And I’d throw the best parties,
And drink the best wine,

I would give the best hugs,
And I’d take the best drugs,
And I’d have many women,
Exotic, not thugs

I’d have many more friends,
That would be obvious,
It’s easy to imagine
A much larger audience.

I’d be a noble prince
It’s not such a far leap,
It’s clear to me now,
As I sit here and weep.


As I ponder all the ways,
Which my life could be better,
I shudder to think,
I might share this letter,

With people who know me,
And people who see,
What a wonderful person,
I almost could be

So what I’ll do in the end,
Is make pretend I had friends,
That I led a good life,
That I had a beautiful wife,

That I was a nobleman,
Dressed to impress,
That the ladies all adored me,
And shared in my success,

As the curtains now come,
To a gradual close,
And my memory fades,
Of the new and the old,

I’ll remember more good times,
The glory old days,
And I’ll fill in the blank spots,
Masquerade escapades

I’ll makeup the past,
Without any proof,
For whom is to care,
Who remembers my youth,

But one thing’s for sure,
beyond any doubt,
I won’t give a fuck,
what I lived with or without,

I wont’ even remember
This day in september,
Nor will I care,
of my looks or my hair,

I will cease any more pride,
In my basic appearance,
I won’t even bathe,
I’ll put my soul on clearance.

I won’t ever be sad, or happy or glad,
I won’t recognize the memories of my mom of my dad,
I will completely forget about,
All that I’ve seen,

Both beautiful and haneous,
Will lose all their meaning,

Approaching the end I’ll no longer worry,
About how I appear or why I should hurry,

I’ll spend the last days in calmness and fright,
At things more important like heaven or flight,

Now awake in a hospice, arrives the angel of death,
He waits and he watches as I take my last breath,
He looms and he stares with his deep black eyes,
And draws closer to my head, neck, chest, waist, and thighs,

This marks a great triumph which fills me with relief,
That life will go on but do so without me,

I now no longer wonder,
what could have been, should have been,
what would have, and should have,
happened to me,

I will cease to exist and I’ll never see,
What life would have been, could have been,
If I wasn’t me…

written by – Jeremiah Williams – on death and dying

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