I am the Arlington Cemetery,
Filled with the bodies of our fallen,
And the flowers from the people they left behind.

I am the tears rolling down the cheek of a child,
Stinging and burning leaving a trail of wet.

I am the prison cell of a murderer,
Having to live with the guilt of every death he caused.

I am the lonely alcoholic,
Stomach warm with the intoxication of his drink,
Sitting in the bar contemplating his life choices.

I am the wooden coffin of a cancer patient,
Slowly being lowered into the Earth,
While everyone is thinking that he was so close to survival.

I am the single mother quietly crying alone in her room,
Too scared to tell her child that she lost her job,
That she can no longer provide enough for her.