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.