Demons of my Dreams

They were free,
They didn’t live in peace and harmony,
But freedom is one thing they had.
But then they came.
The demons of my dreams
Came marching.
They took them away.
Too afraid to kick and scream.
Too afraid to fight.
Looking at the uniforms.
Looking at the guns.
Looking at their own raggedy clothes
Their own weak bodies.
Nothing could be done.
They faced a horror.
One too many faced,
Yet too few lived to speak of.
And those who lived to speak
Had a constant reminder.
A reminder of the pain.
The letters on their arms.
The blue KL will never go away.
The memories.
The things which get imprinted
And stay till the brain has forgotten all other things.
Which in a way isn’t bad.
They have to remember
Or people will think it was all a dream.
All a sob story.
As if we need their sympathy.
Looking at a photograph, what do you see?
They face of the innocent.
The young.
The hopeful.
Now look whats left.
They bones of someone who was innocent.
Was young.
Was hopeful.
Is no more.
What do we have to show?
What can we use to prove
That the horror is not a sick myth.
The one who made up that myth is sick.
We have pictures of torture.
We have diaries left behind.
The bones.
The memories.
Look at a star of yellow.
What did it show?
Weakness.
Evil.
Animals.
Now what do you see?
Strength.
Survivor.
Equal.
Now we’re still free.
We may not live in perfect peace and equality,
But we are now, and forever
Free.





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