Springtime In Auschwitz

A short poem detailing the sentence of an inmate at Auschwitz, the Nazi death camp.


1. Springtime In Auschwitz

Last night I dreamt that all was well,

That sweet blossoms grew where laughter would dwell.

My lips were red again, not dead and torn

Not like the grey carcass of each coming dawn.


Tree boughs were heavy with the warm white snow,

Far from the cold ash that I've come to know;

It falls from the chimneys where souls disappear

Ash lands on my lips and it tastes of fear.


And in my mind, I came to see

A bed that was warm and a God that loved me.

Soft cheeks for coarse blankets,

Wings for dull pain, 

Youth for the number I wear as a chain.


I heard the night-bird sing to the skies.

Now gunshots echo as the cold moon dies.

People pass through here, minds of dull rust;

All that is left is spilt blood on dust.


I think of the bedtime stories they tell,

Of masked men and gas and charred black hell.

Once I had eyes, blue like cold flame,

Remind me, God help me: what is my name?



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