Even the dead tell stories,

Horrors that have happened,

Proof that humanity is sick,

Evidence lies in their wake,

Fingerprints, footprints,

Gunpowder, blood splatters,

Weapons, and even hairs!

Evidence comes in many forms,

Each telling their own

Part of the story.

A body found in the woods,

Blood leaking

From a hole in the head,

Gunpowder mixed with the blood.

Footprints are found roughly

10 feet away,

Embedded in the mud.

A gun lies next to them,

Recently fired,

Hot to the touch.

This evidence paints a picture

Of a deadly attack.

The body alone says a lot,

Like how the victim was being chased

Until they were shot

Dead,

A bullet in the head.

The weapon was obviously the gun,

But who does the gun belong to?

Fingerprints answer the question.

Checking the prints left on the gun

Against the prints already in our system,

We find a match,

Time to make the catch.

In pursuit of the culprit,

Hunting them down,

Day in, day out,

Until we find out

Where they are at.

Eventually, we make the arrest,

Doing our best

To bring the victim peace

And the culprit to justice

In the court of law.

The dead may not speak,

But they sure can tell stories.