Rachel McNeil
Somewhat BlindAt my Sabbath table I prayed with purpose
My family humble and kind,
No one thought that they could hurt us,
We were so innocent and somewhat blind.
For the evil men came to our home
With weapons and waving claims
They said “Don’t worry you’ll be back soon”
But they lied all the same.
With just our most precious things,
Among ovoid jewels and pearls,
We made our way through words that sting
To a cramped dark train, us boys and girls.
Days and nights we wondered and hoped
Until ashy daylight was poured upon us.
Out we stepped to read a sign ever so sloped
That called our destination Auschwitz.
Sorted and separated we timidly walked
They enabled us to clean our skin
Instant death came to those who talked
Our possessions were all rudely taken.
Striped clothes and a number
In return for our worldly goods
Coyness and bravery swept down under
Our heads shaved equally, cautiously
understood.
Assigned horrid games to play
Endowing us with numbered breaths.
Crumbs of bread our only pay
Besides the livid gift of quicker death.
What on earth was our objective?
Who could have let this happen?
Look and see from our blanched
perspective.
The oblong routine never broken.
Only so long ago we slept
In peaceful demureness and passion
Our prayers and rituals were always kept,
In sight, our dreams and aspirations
Now Satan would be happier
Taking that long fall from heaven.
For this is a brutal hell I am sure
Bloody hands stuck in slow motion.
Will I see my brother again?
If ever, let it be soon!
In darkness I call out to heaven.
To the lonely elliptical moon.
Hardly can we remember our hopes.
Our beliefs have been torn and melted.
The crematorium, the pain, and forgotten soap
Investments gone and mounded.
Today we do not cry out to Yaweh.
Too weak to work they herd us like sheep
To the chambers of no return I boldly walk.
Eminent death is to finally mine to claim.
Leadership
This morning awakened many, to their troubles and from their dreams.
Some stretch with pride and confidence, while others denature at the seams.
Each individual arises, different and unique their routines and thoughts.
A spiral of ideas and questions, tied together in endless knots.
The day goes on and one by one, the people live their lives.
Some quiet their tongues of gold, to let others speak their minds.
Each day brings something new yet eerily the same.
Malevolently, the same fears will grip the quietly insane.
For belligerently their minds will fight for silence and for speech,
A strong-willed leader yet somewhat buried is only just out of reach.
Discarded adulation, forgotten and lost at sea,
The minds of seagulls flying away, so foreign to you and me.
The majority smiles and rewards the strong with astounding deification,
Even the silenced must admit that confidence grabs your attention.
It is only when the idolatry wears off that the quiet bring their words to life.
What silent, powerful control they have that perseveres through change and strife.
Inspired and revived, the people stand in admiration for the speaker.
They marvel at the ideas portrayed with the talent of a leader.
Seagulls fly with unquestioning certainty, with no reason for alarm.
The open ocean a welcome sight bringing peace and unknown harm.
Not to be galvanized all stand on edge in undying anticipation.
They wait for their leaders, both strong and weak, to try and lead their nation.
Shame is fiercely doffed from their plumage of feathers.
Clustered wealth and greedy hands not worthy in this kind of weather.
The tortoise wins the race while the mighty hare sits aside.
Hope is ruthlessly abandoned in a tuft of worthless pride.
The night greets everyone once again, their dreams calling them to sleep.
But today the quiet have spoken their minds and the ink will continue to seep.
