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Marked

They said the Nazi ’s were nice. Friendly.
Look where we are now.
Marked by a star.
Fenced in our town.
Confined to our homes.
Banned from our god.
Days pass, weeks.
Faces we’ve seen forever, suddenly disappear.
Peeking out of the curtains, the marching begins.
Children, youth, adults.
All the same.
All marked with that wretched star.
Rounding the corner, not only are they gone.
So is our hope.

Stripped

Many miles travelled in this cattle car.
Suffocation, starvation, screams.
The fire so many screech about, is nowhere in sight.
Suddenly we stop.
Scrambling.
A rush to get out. Prodded like cows, to move over here. There.
We finally see the fire.
Plumes and plumes of coal black smoke blowing through the air.
Smelling of burnt flesh.
Lines. Formation. Separation.
Some go to the right. Others left.
Women. Children. Marched to the smoke sitting in the sky.
We want to weep. We can’t.
Those of us left, are marched to a room.
Made to strip.
Taken to the “barber.”
Sheared like sheep.
Tattooed. Another mark. Permanent.
Suddenly we’re stripped. Not only of our clothes.
But our life, our family.
Our humanity.


The Lucky Ones

We’ve begun our new lives.
So many things have changed.
Fear the SS. The Kapos.
Work till your bones are bloody.
Food has become the new currency.
An extra crust of bread? Uncommon.
Thicker soup? Rare.
A full stomach? Never.
But you never hear complaints.
You cry, you die.
But those are the lucky ones.
They’ve left this hell.
No longer starving.
Never beaten.
Never tired.
Yes, the lucky ones.
What bliss it must be to fall asleep.
Never to wake up again.

Marches

Months we’ve been here.
Years for some.
Fearing death.
Secretly wanting it.
You learn not to make friends.
One day you see them, then they’re gone.
We wake up, but something’s wrong.
No burnings.
The guards yell “March!”
Pushed forward, shoved.
Forced to leave the only place we’re comfortable in.
Hours upon hours the snow crunches under our feet.
One command.
“Rest!”
Others hear this differently.
They hear die,
And oh so quietly,
They do.

Another

Days and miles pass like shadows.
Scenery changes, and all hope of freedom has left our minds.
The only thought in our minds is:
Live. Live. Live.
The guards slow.
We see the camp.
Another camp.
Another selection.
Another hell.
This march wasn’t to freedom, just another selection.
The most brutal of all.
Suddenly we realize what we are.
Another entertainment to the Nazis.
A new toy.
Another laugh.
That’s all we are.
A laugh.

What Life?

We’re forced to find a new rhythm.
But when we do.
The end comes.
Shooting.
Extermination.
Fleeing.
The Nazi’s are gone. They’ve abandoned us.
We realize something.
We’re free.
But what now?
What do we have to go back to?
They burned our homes.
Took our money.
Our lives.
Our family.
Ourselves.
They tell us to go back to our lives.
But we all ask the same question.
What life?



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