Kamp Vught

I wrote this poem about a school trip that I went on when I was 13 to Kamp Vught, a concentration camp in the Netherlands. Many families were brought there, and all the children under a certain age (13 I think) were eventually killed, the youngest being only 6 days old.
I originally wrote this when I was 13, but I recently decided to re-write it with a more mature viewpoint.
Thanks for reading :)

This Godless place,

Still filled with the echoes of the past,

The screaming and the sickness,

Barbed wire and guns,

Children, women, men,

Families pulled apart,


Memorials and teary eyes,

A mass of pebbles,

Matted teddies,

A line draws out the youngest,

6 days old.


6 days old,

And suffered,

As no child should,

Among his brothers and sisters,

Locked in a cold chamber,

None make it out of these doors,


A silent mother praying,

Not only for the soul of her child,

But for those who murdered him





They close their eyes and close their ears,

Follow orders,


Swear allegiance to a lost and angry man,


We follow,

Behind a wizened man,

Telling us the horror,

13 years old,

And older than many who died here before,

The worst and best of humanity,

Still held within these walls

The End

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