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Poem

This crumpled piece of paper.
Has no words or pictures on its face
But there are memories of fears
And my eyes fill with tears.

Crumpled paper with specks of blood
A torn off corner, smears of mud
That’s all I have to remember you.
That’s all I have, of the friend I knew.

Every crease, every fold
Holds a story that must be told
Of cruelty, of friendship rich
Of hideous times at Auschwitz

Each mark, a memory of you
Condemned to Auschwitz, because you were a Jew.
The horror of that camp cannot be explained
Nor can my sorrow be contained.

Body wasted, skin and bone
Family murdered, all alone.
How I loved you as a friend
How I mourned you life’s end.

A piece of paper was all you had
Your sole possession, in a world gone mad.
An unwritten letter, youth still furled
Unpenned dreams of a better world.

Russian guns were near, to set us free.
Tomorrow, there would be no more misery.
Yet, tonight the Nazis came, and took you away,
Never to see another day.

Why? Oh why did they murder still?
There was no reason for them to kill.
Their war was lost, they had not won.
Why did the killing still go on?

That fateful night, an assembly call
For you to go to the transit hall
To be marched away, in single file
To cyanide death, to murder vile.

A last hug. You body shook
As I took
The crumpled paper from your hand.
Your final gift in this sad land.

That crumpled paper from your trembling hand
I know, somehow, you will understand
It lifts your spirit, it sets it free
You’ll live forever in  memory.

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