There Are No Graves

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