In shadows cast by fleeting breath,
A canvas holds my silent death.
The mirror breaks, the eyes lose their light,
A shell remains where I begin.
No throb to stir the painted veins,
No whispered dreams, no stifled pains.
The brush has carved out my final scream,
A phantom in lines, eternally.
The colors bleed, the soul departs,
A stillborn hymn from broken hearts.
What was flesh has now melted into legend
A countenance locked in time's icy core.
But in this death, a truth I adhere,
A living face, an immortal glance.
For whereas I wither beneath the sod,
This dead man speaks what words cannot tell.