The fading sound of passing cars fills our ears.

Black sprinkled with white stars

West coast the skies.

Silence takes over as we see

countless benches.

Deaths.

Lost souls.

People.

A dead rose sits under a bench.

The petals once velvety,

Now crisp

Not alive,

But still beautiful.

Some were forgotten,

With no flower to remember them.

Fluorescent lights under the bench illuminati the stone bench,

Giving it life while honoring the dead.

White lights on the poles hover above the benches

Just like halos.

I imagine the fear that struck their eyes

as the plane lurched forward.

The last, “I love you”s,

The last, “What’s happening?”s,

The last goodbyes.

I imagine the people inside the Pentagon as they saw

A plane heading right towards them.

They are not just benches,

They are not just a memory.

They were people.

People with different pasts.

People with different traits.

People with hope for a bright future.

Futures darkened

by the shadow of death.