In response to Night By: Elie Wiesel

The sounds of heavy footsteps never end, never.
My heart beats louder than anything as if it could burst out of my chest at any given moment, it beats.
The cry of the innocent groan on and on forever, forever.
Shots spiral out of the guns of those who blindly, yet devotionally, hate, penetrating the souls of those who are weak, oh so weak.
Souls morn in despair as even the land weeps, go home, go home, for this, I cannot bear.

Red. That is all I see, is red.
The blood of the innocent illustrates a picture of one man thinking he is greater than another, the blood.
I see the spirits of the dead, never resting, eternally sobbing over a land that will never be called their own, it is the dead.
I see confusion, oh so much confusion.
Is it not too much for one soul to see so much red? It is red, a bright, bright red.

I taste hunger, a hunger for what is right, oh what a hunger!
The taste of the agony of the suffering saturates me, overpowering what is left of my independence.
Before, how I would have wondered how one could taste anything more than food. Though now I see, I would have wondered.
I taste it. My grieving soul tastes it all and more for it bears the weight of every one of the Jews. Why the Jews?