A man dies a thousand lives and lives none
For he is either fearing his end or that of his loved one
Instead of reading the beginning
He’s anxious to peak in on the ending
Here are a few words about the ‘horrible’ event I am defending.

You say you’re mourning for the dead
But are they asking for that tear you shed?
Are they even upset?
Why, it is only the body, they left.

For the death of your friend, you now mourn.
But don’t you know that meanwhile, another one is born?



Look at that rose that has just bent down and died,
Will it not carry her name, that seed she left behind?

You say you won’t meet him again,
But how do you explain the wind, then?
Can’t it be him, whispering your name?
Or maybe he comes with the rain,
Waits till you’re outside so he can crawl down your skin again.

You say your friend is away,
But don’t you realize that he’s running in your DNA?
Whatever he touches in life remains in death,
His fingerprints are everywhere, and as to his breath,
The trees purify it, their own good deed,
The air you now breathe, it is him, indeed.

Your friend died a million time,
For while in his sleep, when the stars shine,
His soul wanders off at night,
To discover what he couldn’t under the light.

You say he’s in a better place, is he?
I disagree, one day he might be,
But today, his soul finds form in your shadow,
He’s right behind you, that happy fellow,
And he begs you to see,
That, for the first time, he is free,
And that in death not life, he can finally be.
Let it be.