I glanced down toward the body,
It was a crisp morning in the summer.
The body lay in a deserted field;
My tears fell onto his pale face.​

​

Can the dead feel?
Can the dead hear?
No, they cannot feel.
They cannot hear.
My love was dead,
I couldn't talk to him,
I couldn't tell him I loved him;
One more time.
If I held him,
He wouldn't hold me back.

​

My love was dead,
And I am alive.
I must go on, but how can I?
He was everything to me.
When I woke up,
He was there.
When I needed a shoulder to cry on,
He was there.
How could I go on?

​

How could I live another day?
Another minute?
A second?
I needed him.
And yet he was gone.

​

A rope lay near by,
It was tightly coiled.
Someone had dropped it,
Near my love.

My love died in a field;
Alone.
No one to hold his hand;
No one to say "I love you"
My love was dead.

​

I have the option:
Live,
Or…
Die.
Because my love,

Was dead.