His heart was not broken,
But shattered.
From the explosion
Of truth upon the weak,
Those forced to hold heads high
In a battle never finished.
He died as sleep overtook him,
With one arm curled
And lips parted softly,
Longing for a kiss
That would come too late—
Only as the war-torn skies
Hung over the remains
And a lone survivor
Wandered along
Heaven’s street.
Oh, how she would greet him,
With tears sparkling in her eyes,
And dust upon her rose-colored lips.
Oh, how she would call for him,
Her Jesse Owens,
And kiss his lifeless mouth in earnest,
Out of love and longing
For her lost friend.
She would go on searching
Through hours of frozen time,
For those lost to her.
How she would plead
With me to return the souls
Of the accordion Jew-lover,
Of the masked Saumensch,
And of the lemon-haired boy,
Who even in death
Could never be extinguished.