It was a fateful era for the Jews,
when their tears, blood and fate
was manipulated by the Nazi.
They found anything Jewish to be damned
and wrong, forcing thousands of Jews to exile,
and millions to their deaths.
The Nazis didn't bat their eyelids as they poured gasolene on
little children piled up together in a barn,
as they shouted and cried for help.
At random Jews were selected, and lined up to face
the firing squad in Swastikas;
their blood flowed into pools, trenches and streets,
haunting the spirit of justice in Europe.
Concentration camps, torture and executions
are the only things that the Jews knew,
as they wondered what wrong they did, God
creating them to be who they were.....
Categories:
gasolene, deep, hate, history, holocaust,
Form: Narrative
Trying to capture the sky’s reflections in gasolene puddles,
Though
I know
there’s nothing but rubble,
at the bottom.
But,
If I looked so high
I’d puke before I saw the ground,
but around here,
it’s hard to stay safe sound.
Red hands burn out,
before the ashes fall down,
I hope I could hide these burns away,
but the box frames seem to stay,
seem to grow on blue.
Blue is the color I love so much,
but not like this.
Blue Is sundays.
There’s something about sundays,
that makes everything worse,
it’s living a bombshell,
waiting for time to burst,
No sunshine
just “I hate you’s” and “You need to go’s.”
Shut the door behind you!
I think should go,
where the child’s things grow.
Categories:
gasolene, childhood, rainbow, time,
Form: Verse