NO ONE MOURNS THE NAMELESS

This is a poem about the forgotten who ends up in the morgue without anyone to identify them.
I make a reference to Potters field, which is where they bury those they cannot attach a name to.

Silence suffers in the bowels of the morgue
It's transients are breathless from decay
A never ending misery permeates their soul
As words were left behind like castaways
Cut down early by the needle or the gun
Misfits of memories in arteries deep
If you shoot it out you will leave a mark
Take a trip or go to sleep

Staring at eternity through blind mens eyes
Where the dark is darker than the futile hope for light
Some are charred, tar fused to their bones
Burnt by desperation succumbing to their hollow plight
If no one cares why even give a damn
Sleeping with anxiety numb by dismay
Suicide Cinderellas seeking their fuel
The courage to finally slip away

Here they lay faces without names
No one stopping by to put in a claim
They bury them deep in Potters field
Wooden boxes stacked high barely sealed
To whom do their memories belong
Those midnight vagrants who died so young
Crumbled dreams slipping through their fingers
To vanish with the wind, no time for them to linger