Holocaust.

I rarely cry, and I cried in public today, many of you looked away.
The only sound I could make was a sigh, how many days were never lived?
Too many gone for a simple goodbye
the public was made to feel like a voyeur to my tears,
but all I could think is "so much laughter was stolen".

It stuck with me like cold steeped megrims, or something deeper.
Think of those averting eyes, diabolic men’s whims and all those souls for the reaper.
I never heard the screams, or have seen those man created seams.
Huddled for heat and from the long day beat, can you really perceive?
I tried, and I cried today.
Thoughts like the ink permeate my soul and being too late, I grieve.

The numbers surround me, and do you really see?
For you its art, a thing of which you can choose to take part.
Responding to their urgent behest, would you have joined a protest?
If you hadn't, steeped deep in silent sin would you be able to live with yourself?
Think, could you have dug a pit for your kin?

I speak of these sorrows and dream thickly, of children burned and crying out sickly.
This is history, her story, our story, our horror, our creation in which men fight, finding death and glory.
I cried in public today and you may have looked away, ashamed of my display.

Author's Note

This was written by Ben Lingemann.
Please do not plagiarize, All Rights Reserved.
(Not completely done polishing and the title may change, I decided to share ahead of time, hope you enjoy it.)

Reviews

[Stabitha]

Yeah.