Concentrate Poem by Jim French

When the me of 6 years
heard grown up speak of
concentration camps
the 6 year old I
Thought camps for people to think

The teenage me
thought
6 year old me
was stupid
as teen knew about
Jews and Germans
and 6,000,000 lost souls

The me of now
Knows the same as the teen
and
agrees
with me of 6

A concentration camp
is just that
a place to concentrate
not on the luxuries of
making the world a better place
or
who is to blame
but
of purity
purity
of thought and deed
and existence

pure thought
in every second
of your remaining
thoughts of

how to live
a little bit more
if you can
when everywhere
and
everyone around you
greets death

In the concentraion camps
the six million had think to exist
in their purest form
hanging on to the last breath
of every second that they had left.