Poems

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I used to sit in my room and write poems.

I would look out of the window and see children playing.

The sun would shine brightly on their faces.

I wrote about a family, the fun times that we had.

I would write about laughter and love.

Like my life, the poems were happy.

These were written when I knew how to laugh.

These poems were written when love was still in my heart.

Men in uniforms came to my town.

When I looked out of the window, the skies were dim.

There were no children playing.

My poems grew dim with them.

The swastika was hung on flags everywhere.

I was forced to wear a star.

Just like happiness, the poems were forced out of me.

Cattle cars came

I was starves and very weak when I came out of them.

Barbed wire lined the camps we would stay in.

Like the camps, I became guarded.

My poems were taken away from me and I knew my life would go with them.

Now I saw children. They were being killed.

The sun never would shine any brightness on anyone’s face.

My family was dead and with them went all of the good times.

Laughter and Love were stripped of me.

Like the children and my family, my poems would die.

I wondered if I would ever read one again

I wondered if another foolish child would write poems to try and keep some hope in their life.

What fools they must be.

What a fool I was.

Poems are silly.

Nothing would save us.

We waked into the gas chambers.

Like my life, my poems never mattered.

I used to sit in my room and write poems.

I would look out of the window and see children playing.

The sun would shine brightly on their faces.

I wrote about a family, the fun times that we had.

I would write about laughter and love.

Like my life, the poems were happy.

These were written when I knew how to laugh.

These poems were written when love was still in my heart.

Men in uniforms came to my town.

When I looked out of the window, the skies were dim.

There were no children playing.

My poems grew dim with them.

The swastika was hung on flags everywhere.

I was forced to wear a star.

Just like happiness, the poems were forced out of me.

Cattle cars came

I was starves and very weak when I came out of them.

Barbed wire lined the camps we would stay in.

Like the camps, I became guarded.

My poems were taken away from me and I knew my life would go with them.

Now I saw children. They were being killed.

The sun never would shine any brightness on anyone’s face.

My family was dead and with them went all of the good times.

Laughter and Love were stripped of me.

Like the children and my family, my poems would die.

I wondered if I would ever read one again

I wondered if another foolish child would write poems to try and keep some hope in their life.

What fools they must be.

What a fool I was.

Poems are silly.

Nothing would save us.

We waked into the gas chambers.

Like my life, my poems never mattered.

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