Camp 37
I am older now, my
body creaks, but it
remembers.
As if it happened
yesterday,
Walking through Camp
37, east of Dresden
Germany
Dark, sorrowful
overcast skies
Hang like a wash of
black ink
Rusted razor wire,
empty guard towers.
Sentinels to times
past, a reminder
Snow crunches like
ginger crackers
under my feet.
Forty cabins, dark
weathered wood
Allied containers
Sweet pine scents
the cold air
My old bunk is bare
Etched messages in
wood, still there.
Hidden stashes,
cigarettes
Freedom in dreams,
shattered when you
awake
Silence,
But my thoughts are
partying,
Tea time was the
best, no cream
Tattered Red Cross
packages, tastes of
home
Hopes for tomorrow
Final freedom.
At Armageddon's end,
Captors become
captives
Deliverance to
tomorrow,
I remember it well.
Copyright © Robert Houlden | Year Posted 2014
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