I lay
With folded hands and sealed, cold eyes.
You won't hear a complaint,
Nor whimper,
Nor breath escape from these
Pale blue lips.

Icy skin,
Clad in a snowy pall.
The room is warm with candle light,
Stuffed with the comfort of the mourners.

They found my body in the trenches,
With nothing
But a glassy tear across my face
Like a shooting star,

And a smudged smile.