Two Tales from Hell

The Poet

Cold wood planks travel for three days and four nights

Along the white barren world on parallel steel rails

Take us from home to Ghetto,

To electrified fences or persecution

Alone, but number with family

We watch the flames of eternal damnation burn.

Smoke and ashes of mother, father, sister and brother

Fill our lungs, with breath of life

We breathe the air of death—oh, bitter sweet taste.

I watch you die a million times,

As I live day to day

I listen to you die a million times,

As I pray for every day

I hear you die             I see you cry

They come

They go

A million times

The Storyteller

The gray from the ashes blocked out the sun;

It was neither winter, spring, summer nor fall.  

The chimneys of the crematorium,

With its insatiable appetite for Jewish flesh,

 Forbade the horizon. 

Smoke and ash from the brick stack refused the day;

Fire from its mouth denied the night.  

It was as if God was asleep,

 And the earth reborn a nightmare,

For only in this state,

Could humanity be void of consciousness.  

The sun never rose,

And the sun never set,

We were left to die.