Dead Poet's Beloved Love

When asked what a sad, damaged, and tormented person looks like, I often share the story of a poet who shared a bed with his beloved, her eyes closed and her skin cold and pallid. The poet spends his night ensuring she's asleep, hoping that dawn will bring another day, "often fate isn't always kind to mortals". She lies a corpse. who would think to lay beside their beloved alive but wake up, them being dead. The only Nightmare that begins at dawn. Now I ask you, isn't that body a lonely, unhappy person, and we're to be the poets? "We presume a person is alive because he laughs, grins, speaks, and lives, yet there are frequently no distinctions between a corpse and a lonely, miserable person in our world". we all await the Epiphany, In that daybreak there were two bodies, one dead and the other alive, representing the poet's ultimate loss.