God stops here,
At the gate.
Where man is stripped of his name, and reduced to half his weight
Where the familiar stench of flesh is what they step over and breathe in.
God does not enter,
However, God never leaves.
He trembles at the gate, with his hands caving in,
Teasing freedom that comes, only with the surrender of your being.
Does he whisper in the ear of the young man empowered by the hate of the gun?
Does he whisper to the old ear of the blind man, with the gun power and favour to run?
Does he know of the dreams of the piled-on figure A-7639?
Does he hear the absent cry, of the father, mother and son?
God stops, Here
At the front of the ill battered gates, and gives his power to the ordinary,
those filtered through and embroidered with hate
They decide the fate of men, women and child.
...
Did God stop, listen, care for a while,
before he left the Gates?
...
YOU ARE READING
The Holocaust Series
Historical FictionI wrote several of these poems after I watched the inspired film 'Labyrinth of Lies' (I recommend everyone watch it), and after learning about the Holocaust at my own school. The film and my current education, challenged and reinforced my knowledge...
