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

 

Executioners,

Murderers,

Scared,

They close their eyes and close their ears,

Follow orders,

Obey.

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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