Holocaust
by Barbara Sonek We played, we laughed we were loved. We were ripped from the arms of our parents and thrown into the fire. We were nothing more than children. We had a future. We were going to be lawyers, rabbis, wives, teachers, mothers. We had dreams, then we had no hope. We were taken away in the dead of night like cattle in cars, no air to breathe smothering, crying, starving, dying. Separated from the world to be no more. From the ashes, hear our plea. This atrocity to mankind can not happen again. Remember us, for we were the children whose dreams and lives were stolen away. Most evil of man Adolf Hitler was the most evil of men As evil as a human could be Should've been hung by his you know whats Before his killing spree They say he was actually a human being I certainly have my doubts Wreaking havoc on a whole race of people What was all that about Perhaps he was the devil reincarnated Or maybe Genghis Khan Shouldn't make light of his murderous exploits Purely just an evil man Can't imagine it will ever happen again The world's a lot saner now Ya right! Guess I'm sounding a bit delusional A lunatic out on the prowl SUFFER NOT Suffer not o man she cried desperate for consolation Compassion twisted and tore at her heart but the world she knew was silent. Painful sounds from death filled wars, would wound her more than jagged poison tipped arrows that pierced much too deeply. And yet she carried on in quiet song as the world she knew kept silent. And if the dying weren't enough, the sight of bloated bellies and distraught mothers and sacked villages laid bare by the unwilled force of child soldiers, would crush her spirit. How could the world she knew keep silent? Thinking that God did not understand her despair She wept with abeyant tears that could not flow as the world she knew kept silent. To live, to die in the soiled spattered flow of time passing through, passing through Is the secret so sublime? Cannot she grieve? Then silence no more was heard. Instead a curious word within emerged from her meditation of life's graces a Hebrew word "Bitachon" What was not known in agonies was revealed in her silence. |
FlamesLocked up,
Like a criminal, Though they did no wrong. Can you imagine what life must have been, For those who know this well? They lost their freedom, They lost all hope, And all they were left with, Were broken hearts, And broken homes. Their whole lives gone, In a matter of days, Because someone says their not good enough, To stay. Massacred and murdered, By the dozens, by the hundreds, By the thousands, Children, and their parents, Split apart. Some survived, But how few this must have been, When everything around them was in, Flames. A Good Death
My father says in time he'll learn to listen to the Polonaise and not hear Sikorski or Warsaw, the hollow surge and dust of German tanks,only Chopin, his staff of clean notes and precise legato. His dreams will be of crystalled trees,papered gifts in red half-light,the smell of warm sheds and girls drawing milk from waiting cows. The snow will fall and go unnoticed. A POETS APOCOLYPSE After that moment a gray dust covers all Invading the senses, casting a veil of despair The prince of darkness will have his due Oh cry ye fools, of this hell be you aware.... And what of the poets with blood on their pens Huddled in dark corners, trying to understand Making rhymes for only the night wind to read In the end a homage of heart to a beloved land.... |
Auschwitz Stripes
Here we are, Hand in hand. With barely the energy left to stand, And we are separated, But as one Fighting to see the morning sun. Yet hope is gone. We are creatures, Of cloth stripes, with a number. No name, no soul, No hope at all. And we do their bidding. The devil's bidding. Through the blistering colds And the death that unfolds. With nothing but stripes. If your eyes could see, The horror and pain confronting me, Then you would cry, As people die. The Burning of the Books by Bertolt Brecht translated by Michael R. Burch When the Regime commanded the unlawful books to be burned, teams of dull oxen hauled huge cartloads to the bonfires. Then a banished writer, one of the best, scanning the list of excommunicated texts, became enraged: he’d been excluded! He rushed to his desk, full of contemptuous wrath, to write fierce letters to the morons in power -- Burn me! he wrote with his blazing pen -- Haven’t I always reported the truth? Now here you are, treating me like a liar! Burn me! |
A Holocaust Poem
Sitting in here Crying in shame Sneak out the back Not playing this game Shielding your eyes From this world of hate Cannot believe this A world of distaste Choosing to hide From the creatures of dark Wolves in man's clothing Always making their mark Taking a step Can result in your fate Too blinded for life A picture of hate How does this happen In a world of this peace When our motto is "Union" And love's never ceased? First They Came for the Jews by Martin Niemöller First they came for the Jews and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then they came for the Communists and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist. Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me. |