Of The Holocaust. Poem by James Wade

Soldiers come, Dreadful ones.

Glass broken, Just begun.

Disturbed dreams of my Eileen.
Men shot, women and children scream.

Cattle trains to our fate,
Through iron gates built of hate.

Heaps of clothing, Bales of hair,
Take away the ladies fair.

Children fall, stripped from the breast,
Into cold ground with all the rest.

The clothes my brothers wore, I wear.

Numbers inked in skin.

The dreaded One's massacre begun,
The sheep unto the slaughter.

Sunken eyes, tearless skies.

Men of grey at wicked play!

My brother's fate my fate.
Mother's fate Eileen's fate.

Gisela does what she can,
to stay the Reaper's hand.

Showers of gas, ovens red hot fire,
Five chimneys glow a funeral pyre.
Eyes glazed, infernal smokes haze.

Walked into the chamber, carried to the oven.
Stacked like cordwood six feet high.

Wickedness fuels satanic lies.

Through the wire I see, one lone flower's struggle.
From across the yard I hear, the Dark Angel's wicked
laughter.

Smoke rises in the sky, the world is yet to know,
Cause of the horror it does not decry,
While up in smoke we all do go,

Have gone.

Millions are no more.