The Shout
They stood there like ghosts
these apparitions.
Survival was attrition-
Eyes, like big black holes.
Slowly ,barefoot , moved
these emaciated Poles.
The one in front ,raised his hand
and pointed to that heap of sand.
Skin hung on his frame;
who was to carry this evil shame?
He let out a guttural shriek!
This shrouded and tormented freak.
Had bid farewell to his next of kin-
through the stacks this dreadful sin.
With feeble walk he made the gate;
aware that they had not sealed his fate.
Copyright © Theo Constantinides | Year Posted 2014
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