Amdist the Smoke
The smoke swirls from the chimneys,
The feet drag across the gravel.
A Mother’s cry falls deadly silent:
As towards Man’s hell they travel.
Lines of grieving stripes, align.
The punishers heart, as hard as stone.
Each soul called a faceless number
Stands unprotected, godless and alone.
No matter what is written,
Or meaningful words that are spoke.
Can fix your weeping, breaking heart:
Rolling from the chimneys, the smoke...
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Amdist the Smoke, which
was posted on Aug 16, 2011 by
TimGalsworthy.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"I wrote this poem on my return from Auschwitz. It's my attempt to visulise what ..."
This poem is filed under:
Philosophy / Moral, Simple Rhyme
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