:: on auschwitz ::

So much death hangs on these walls
With the pictures of the unnamed,
Unknown, shaved-headed sufferers.
They look like family, all resembling
One another for the fear, the empty
Hope that clouds brown eyes.
I want to walk where they walked.
Into long brick tunnel buildings,
Nothing old or worn except the skinny stairs
Where hopeless shuffling feet,
A thousand, thousand dragging feet,
Have marked their course in cold concrete.


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