lostpoet

Neshoma
My tears Hold memories, a past not forgotten
A future Over turned and scared for life. The
Burning Lights oil driven eight days without pain.
Miracle. Obscured by screams even children's dreams
Are killed Causing sleepless wonders of disbelief.
My head A blessing you did give, with a kiss you
Placing Unbereaved memories, which fall within a tear.
Gray Stubborn clouds of rain hold no more and release
Those ashes of pain, upon their skin.
Tattoos erased, yet your six numbers burned in my mind.
174517 all humanity verboten, you were Jew and never knew
Freedom. Auschwitz a home that had no comfort, nor future.
How frail the bread was and worse how it remained stale in our stomachs.
You were lucky to delay the inevitable and drink a drop
Of stolen water, all things taken even your thoughts, you knew
Were yours. I will tell the truth, I will
I can't sleep at night without a man who cries.
These are my tears, painful memories that will remain
Until my Neshoma is set free.
Forget this not, nor wander far for if you do and care not
Too, the next grain of ash on Their skin could be you.