Dead Man's Face

i look at the face of the man that had died
and feel like i carry him on my back,
and all those that had gone out before him.
i hope they're not beautiful.
now his face is on a screen
for an audience stooped in awe.
the harp is droning, eyes are crying,
and i wonder what his voice was like.
i want to cry at the little heartfelt pins
that his family stuck around his face -
knowing they'll never see him again,
except in this picture shown off like this.