Finding the Plot

Finding the plot Of lost innocence engrained in untold memories The silenced absence in past present unspoken stories well hidden and therefore evoking my past and my future not mine and mine Quite a mind-field mines bombs blazing artillery burning houses My antecedent shelter of generational tapestry knotted not knotted attached and attacked in hindsight myopic insight reflection distortion Existential vertigo imagination fictitious 'memesis' narrational irrational in un-disclosing reality Approximation of personal truth and forgetting un-kown remembrance what was and was not what might have been unsettling my journey reconcilling projections more real than the void of silence screaming Two photographs unearthed post mortem heritage disbelieving acknowledgment in second order ties that bind generations for later or worse in not so new beginnings The baby-faced soldier volunteered for fascist idealised purity insignia “Lebensraum” in mind soul grenades Mastering marches and race for books to be burnt and bodies alike the stench of 'smeltering' flesh concentrated ashes on the graveyard of living hell horror abomination Mislead but never the less culpable in complicity of non resistance and passion Small steps from juvenile prodigy as child radio speaker in brown shorts and obedience deluded megalomania Meeting Mussolini “Heil Hitler my Duce” surviving Russian winters of lice infested power pulverised bodies ideological mind This is my history my baby-faced father wielding the guns My mother instead diving from high platforms somersaulting into the pools of water not yet turned to blood of skins into lampshades bayonetted children dispatched from dignity freedom in aberrated inhumanity She was a champion of the Reich winning her laurels in aesthetic beauty representing regime terror crashed crystals of synagogues gay friendships political cells Roma wagons mental asylums with refuge refused in annihilation exterminated in denial and no mutiny displayed Later saving roofs from the fires of retaliation suffering no doubt in misplaced childhood not yet knowing defeat for a better world to be dreamt of naively Beautiful plaits wanting eyes graceful in innocence of a story unfolding inside and around etching into the moment of ancestral procreation My history again and insights lost never found behind the veil and defence of post-traumatic perpetration cynical acceptance of what has been regardless of what was not to be disclosed responsibility shunned oozing into the next generation of children Never found plots in aphonic dialogue shouting so loudly into the festering wounds of un-explicable sadness marching boots of complicity I have not walked in history’s shoes just in the silence My own offspring...