Gray; that is what I see
Through a film of tears.
But what I can't see I can picture
And hear.
And I feel my heart hang heavy;
Stricken for they that were burning, burning.
The tears spill down my face.
This place is empty now, and where
Prisoners once were held is nothing:
Ashes.
Burnt remnants of fears and dreams,
And the memories of they that were burning, burning.
I trudge onward, and grief
Turns to fear; for I can feel
The hate-filled gaze of Satan's angels,
Watching.
Demons; who, though the Fuehrer is dead,
Keep the fires of Dachau burning, burning.
The Spirit comes and lifts me up,
But the grief remains.
And though my tears now are dried,
I can't forget.
For I fear that I will see the day,
When all the world is burning, burning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem