What I Don't KnowBy Ruth Dykstra
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The ButterflyBy Pavel Friedmann
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What you don't know can't hurt, they say.
I disagree. Did they know? How awful, how hateful? The ghettos, the camps, the chambers, the stars? That made you feel, so different, so sad. As if, you weren't human, anymore? The lives taken, those spared, Will be changed forever. Those that saw and then, saw no more, Those that saw again and again. Those forced to leave, Those forced to stay, Those forced to be somewhere in the middle. There was no way out, no escape. Only to live, Only to die. Frail Envelope of FleshBy Michael R. Burch
Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon's table with anguished eyes like your mother's eyes and a heartbeat weak, unstable... Frail crucible of dust, brief flower come to this- your tiny hand in your mother's hand for a last bewildered kiss... Brief mayfly of a child, to live two artless years! Now your mother's lips seal up your lips from the Deluge of her tears... TerezinBy Michael Flack
The heaviest wheel rolls across our foreheads
To bury itself deep somewhere inside our memories. We've suffered here more than enough, Here in this clot of grief and shame, Wanting a badge of blindness To be a proof for their own children. A fourth year of waiting, like standing above a swamp From which any moment might gush forth a spring. Meanwhile, the rivers flow another way, Another way, Not letting you die, not letting you live. And the cannons don't scream and the guns don't bark And you don't see blood here. Nothing, only silent hunger. Children steal the bread here and ask and ask and ask And all would wish to sleep, keep silent, and just go to sleep again... The heaviest wheel rolls across our foreheads To bury itself deep somewhere inside our memories. Do Not Stand At
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The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow. Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing against a white stone... Such, such a yellow Is carried lightly 'way up high. It went away I'm sure because it wished to kiss the world goodbye. For seven weeks, I've lived in here, Penned up inside this ghetto But I have found my people here. The dandelions call to me And the white chestnut candles in the court. Only I never saw another butterfly. That butterfly was the last one. Butterflies don't live in here, In the ghetto. Untold liesBy Brittany Knoll
The train has come to a stop.
I smile. My throat is very dry. Oh, how long the trip had been! When will they give us our water? I stepped off the train. A mist encircled my body. The mist told me of many things to come. What was to happen next? I stood before the officer. His blue eyes flashed with a fierce will. He told me to go to the left. Is this the right direction? The mist came back. It let me see, hear, and feel the pain of others. I know understood. How many children will cry in the night, before one can see? I was promised a shower. I could feel the icy fingers of death waiting to seize me. Take my life, take it. I am not afraid. How many times can the fires burn before one can hear? I stripped off my clothes. They don't belong to me anymore. Take my clothes, I am as strong as ever. How much blood can fall to the soil, before one can feel? Do not worry. It is almost over now. My soul will live forever in peace. When will they realize that? First they came for
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