It Ends In Irony…

Sometimes it seems like I am a ghost

Just a vague being.. … a nameless face walking along the border of a black iron fence of a graveyard.

I look out to see the sun set… its light tinted with orange, bathing the tops of cold headstones..

Short summaries chiseled upon them..  a life time fit into a few words..

Your beginning..

Your highest accomplishments.. war hero, purple hearts, loving mothers, fathers, or just being born…

Then your end..

I walk through the endless rows of graves, the grass is thick like carpet and cushions the souls of my shoes..

I can’t help but feel a connection to the dead while reading the last words left to describe them to the world ….  Proof they were here and existed

I begin to create visions of who they were, what they looked like, how it felt to know them..

Suddenly I find myself making judgments of them, people I never knew… People from totally different generations..

I then came to the realization of the irony in death

You could go your whole life, not catching a single eye… being a nameless face.. Being a ghost…

And only when death takes you .. People realize you were there.. You existed… they paint a name on your face ..

Only when you become a ghost.. You become real to people… You finally become someone, for some reason, people want to connect to…