I stare at the corpse and the corpse stares at me.
The causation is more than a mystery.
I study the corpse, its jaw is dropped,
its skin is pale, and its heart has stopped.
Its left hand is in a clench, its right holds up a finger.
It lies on a bench, I still linger.
I stare at the corpse and the corpse stares at me.
The situation is plain, plain as can be.
I look at its temple, there is a flaw.
It’s the hole from a bullet, I’m left in awe.
The blood has dried, it covers the features,
while the corpse has died, the poorest of creatures.

I sadden at a thought, one that makes me say,
“You’re not the only person to die this way.”
I say a prayer, and the corpse looks to my eye,
as if to say, “No, don’t cry, we all go sometime.
Now keep your chin up, and be on your way;
no one on earth is planning to stay.
I envy you a lot, since you are what I’m not.
Live your life well, it’s the only one you’ve got.”