*untitled for rit now*

My teacher said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
About how our studies have affected you---
Then, it will be true.

The cries are in the wind
The blood is in the soil
And I wonder if what I feel is really pain
I wonder if the tears I cry are expressions of genuine sadness
If my heart and mind really knows what it’s like to be hurt
Visions of the masses trying to climb the slippery walls of despair
Reaching for that closing window of opportunity
Gasping for air
All the while drowning
In despair
In betrayal
In pain
In the blood of their loved ones

Collapsed in their last positions
With a twinkle still in their eye from that tear that never fell
A glassy gaze still searching for an explanation
As their children
Now orphans
Stand behind the bars of the imprisonment of hope
Waiting for a return that will never come
Not knowing that they will be next
Make me wonder if I deserve the life I live?
Am I worthy of the air I breathe?
Do I have the right to say I’ve been done wrong?
Who am I to say that I feel pain?
Because I curse the wind
Saying it makes me cold
When the wind carries their cries
And I never stop to listen
As the needless tears I cry reach the ground
They mix with the blood
That waters their spirits that live through the flowers
The flowers that I curse because they make me sneeze


As I submerse myself in my sleep
I wonder if I deserve to live the life I live
As I see visions of people drowning
In despair
In betrayal
In pain
In the blood of their loved ones

Good Night. Sweet Dreams

*OMG*

So I'm in English studying the Holocaust. Here are some poems that touched my heart!

UNANSWERED....?
by DUNIO BERNHAUT

Will I always remember?
Can I ever forget
Or is the sentence perpetual and conclusively set?

Will the memories dwindle?
Can the torment subside
Or is the cycle relentless as the flow of the tide?

Will sadness release me?
Can I ever know joy
Or is fate still unfolding some merciless ploy?

Will somebody know me?
Can I be seen through the haze
Or is the image evasive, an intricate maze?

Will my life serve a purpose?
Was it carefully planned
Or is destiny adding one more granule of sand?

Like shadowy visions concealing in fear
Most answers elusive, opaque and unclear
But these so translucent through a shroud of regret:
Yes, I will always remember; No, I can never forget....




I C A N N O T F O R G E T
THE ACTION IN THE GHETTO OF ROHATYN, MARCH 1942.
by Alexander Kimel- Holocaust Survivor.
Do I want to remember?
The peaceful ghetto, before the raid:
Children shaking like leaves in the wind.
Mothers searching for a piece of bread.
Shadows, on swollen legs, moving with fear.
No, I don't want to remember, but how can I forget?

Do I want to remember, the creation of hell?
The shouts of the Raiders, enjoying the hunt.
Cries of the wounded, begging for life.
Faces of mothers carved with pain.
Hiding Children, dripping with fear.
No, I don't want to remember, but how can I forget?

Do I want to remember, my fearful return?
Families vanished in the midst of the day.
The mass grave steaming with vapor of blood.
Mothers searching for children in vain.
The pain of the ghetto, cuts like a knife.
No, I don't want to remember, but how can I forget?

Do I want to remember, the wailing of the night?
The doors kicked ajar, ripped feathers floating the air.
The night scented with snow-melting blood.
While the compassionate moon, is showing the way.
For the faceless shadows, searching for kin.
No, I don't want to remember, but I cannot forget.

Do I want to remember this world upside down?
Where the departed are blessed with an instant death.
While the living condemned to a short wretched life,
And a long tortuous journey into unnamed place,
Converting Living Souls, into ashes and gas.
No. I Have to Remember and Never Let You Forget.



HomelandLois E. Olena

It was Christmas eve
and there was no room in the inn,
the Oswiecim inn,
so the Arrow Cross
took the children,
barefooted
and in their nighties,
out to the Danube
and filled their little bellies
not with bread
but bullets
flipping them
like tiddlywinks
into the congealing, icy river below.

It was the Red Danube
that night,
choking on the blood
of orphan Jews
whose little Blue faces
floated downstream
touring even all of Europe
until they washed up
on the shores of Eretz Yisrael
and came back to life,
their little blue and white
bodies
raised high,
flapping in the wind.

*IM BACK*

Ok so I've given up on the novel thing...for right now. I'll porobably back at it later, but its probably going to be fiction as oppossed to more autobiographical. I'll just stick to my poetry for right now. Look for more to come.