There Are No Graves
There is no place no place at all
On which the wind might caress or blow or lay to store
Though blow it does relentlessly and it never fails to chill us
to the very core
…
Likewise there are no graves or markers on which the snow might fall
Though fall it does believe me and it tends to burn us all
…
There are no birds no birds at all
that respite on these rotting posts and rusting wire
There are no trees nor grass or leaves to provide shelter from the
impending storm
…
There are no words no words at all
that might describe the void this ache the sheer turmoil
The Auschwitz that contains my soul
…