John-Jane Doe

Take my torn, tattered remains
Place it gently into the boxed coffin
The cherry wood finish with white soft cushion
It’s one dream never to be fulfilled
Of a dead man or woman
Living in the woods on hard plane
Where wide open space is for home
With earth being firm bed
Skies put a roof over heads
Trees are the best friends
And, to survive, Lord provides all the food
From city trash cans
But now, tired open eyes are closed
Sunk deep into the body frame
Heart stopped beating, no more pumping adrenaline
Blood doesn’t flow through the veins
Brain freeze has finally happened
No one to take care, out in cold, frozen
Lips chapped, hands dried sticks
Bare feet infected with gangrene
When alive, were no good to anyone
But now are needed by someone
At the research institute to work on leftover skeleton
It didn’t matter when were alive
What happened to us?
Found better time and place indeed
For the world to let us know for sure
We’re definitely required
Not alive but when dead
For we’re homeless John-Jane Doe
Whose remains have a better chance of not ending up deceased