John Doe

You were stripped of your identity,

Your name, family, friends,

All that defines you as a person.

The only remains of you

Is a plain mislabeled gravestone

That shares a name with thousands.

“John Doe.”

You became a statistic on that day,

A blank slate with no memories

Written down.

You were just another unknown civilian

Rolled in the hospital

And proclaimed DOA.

Why should they give you special treatment?

They don’t know you, after all,

So why should they allow you

To say your final “goodbyes?”

No one knew if you had family,

For your identity you so long to reveal

Is trapped within your muted spirit.

The doctors rolled your rigid body

On a gurney straight to the morgue,

Without thinking twice about your final wishes.

Your family will not be able to

Find your final resting place, to mourn for their loss,

Or to remember your spirit.

Your tombstone will remain barren;

No flowers will be laid,

For only moss grows when strangers pass a stranger’s grave.

Did you ever feel passion?

Hold your child’s

Delicate hand in yours?

You might have said “love you” this morning,

Not expecting it to be

Your final “goodbye.”

We place earth over your unknown body

In hopes that you will rest in peace,

John Doe.

I can only pray that when your muted spirit reaches heaven

That they will open those pearly gates

For a life without a name.