Dreaming in Buchenwald
The world burns before our eyes,
and the smell of everything red
is on our skin.
and the smell of everything red
is on our skin.
We wait in line for bread
that never comes. We speak
to strangers thinking they will
tell us where our lives are.
that never comes. We speak
to strangers thinking they will
tell us where our lives are.
We pray in the barracks
and the fields for the miracle
of hope.
and the fields for the miracle
of hope.
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My father survived 4 years in Buchenwald. He never thought he would.
A number of my poems in Echoes of Tattered Tongues describe his struggle to keep going.
____________________________
The photo is by American photographer Margaret Bourke-White. From her book Dear Fatherland: Rest Quietly, a memoir of her journey through wartime Germany with the American Army.
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wow that's amazing i almost cried when i read this poem very good, where can i buy your book at i would like to get it and read it
ReplyDeleteThank you. There are poems about my father and his experiences in buchenwald in my book lightning and ashes
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