AT THE RIM OF HELL

He traced, and retraced the steps he had taken,
as if, it would made the dead, awaken;
As if, she would magically wake up from her trance,
and gift him, his much needed chance.

He then, frustrated, looked up to the sky,
wished upon a star, shooting by;
Closing his eyes, he hoped for a miracle,
A genie to appear, and to help him tackle.

He would not require the three mandatory wishes,
but just the one, to make one undead, no less;
He, whose gender, he wanted to be a surprise,
sadly his decision, she had blamed for the demise.

So many what ifs, and a few dozen maybes,
none, however, could make their sorrows decrease,
He lost not one, but two, that fateful date,
One to death, and the other to hate.

Those eyes, that nose, did not leave his sight,
even in his dreams, try as he might,
He had looked just like her, minus a beating heart,
and so, funnily enough, death did do them part.

Walking away, in the moonless night,
with a howling cry, as two wolves begin to fight;
Maybe hell would have an answer for him,
His punishment, he hoped to find at hell's rim.