When there is no more life in the eyes,
The stillness of lifelessness is penetrating;
The sterility of coldness and finality is harsh.
It is like the taste of metal in the mouth.
I contemplate the nothingness of it.
The days of men are counted in seasons.
When I look upon them, is tears all I can give?
For they are men no more, but have been reborn.
They will live; they will yet live.
In my memory, I will count them as gods.