A gentle hand over our eyes, br Death’s meager comfort is its certitude; br Its one true lasting pain found br In festering questions shouted down the hall: br Death’s when, how, why, whether. br An ending or beginning? br Eternal silence or ethereal portal? br Continuation of everlasting energy? br Mere dissipation of chemicals bound together, br For now, by fire and electricity? br A flame too soon extinguished, br A circuit abruptly broken, br Separating current from content, br Leaving questions rising br Like smoke from the breath of a match. br Our own true lasting pain found br In flailing certitude. br And our true solace, our genuine joy, br The simple resolve to see.