Persons there, standing <br />Are they people or coat hangers? <br />With folds of skin loosely draped over <br />Skeletal figures <br />Hanging depressed and hurt <br />So thirsty and dry and hungry <br />for love. <br />No feeling <br />Keep working <br />Tomorrow it may be over <br />The spindly ash-coloured <br />Spider looming over. <br />It casts a shadow <br />Over their feelings. <br />Its spikes pierce their thoughts, <br />puncture their numb state <br />and strike their hope into the <br />dust. The dust that clings <br />to their limp forms, that <br />houses itself permanently in their <br />calls for help. <br />Loss of will as flames lick <br />the chapels. Burning God's <br />home despite his inability to be <br />contained by object or <br />hatred. <br />Or Hitler.<br /><br />Insane and luving it<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/concentration-camp-2/
