The Camps

Quiet not a single sound, 
We line in groups straight on the ground.

For if we make a single peep,
The monster there our soul he’ll keep.

So many thoughts of what will be, 
If that monster targets me.

A rifle’s shot will mercy be, 
But what if that’s not my destiny?

I could befall all those torturous tales, 
Of what they do to the fickle and frail.

And so I muster up my strength, 
To show I’m strong and tall in length.

I could be of help and dump the loads, 
Or I could serve in other modes.

It’s each day a survivors woe, 
Not knowing what the day will hold.