PROPHETA
(Final Solution: Poland: December 1943)
Published in Arts & Culture, July 17, 2007, Page 67
Copyright © 2000, 2006
Jason Lester Atkins
985 Fleet Drive, #347
Virginia Beach, VA 23454
All Rights Reserved.
Mr. Blake, you wrote, "we will fulfill
Our prophecy by burning one another."
When things are ready as ordered,
When the stacks are high enough,
When there is a high shouting wind
Of hate: They pour on the special fuel.
Our naked bodies burn beautifully -
Colors of purple, orange and pink.
Shit in our burning guts burbles,
Like coffee in a morning pot.
Fire holding in dead eyes, reflecting
Minds numbing fear and soldier's delight.
Our bones, pounded to dust, are
Poured into the flowing Polish river.
The lingering souls begging behind you
No longer inhabit these scorched bones.
Revolting against silence as curling smoke,
We become wind singing an aria.
The blades of grass you stand upon
Are singing the sounds of our names.
Mr Blake, how did you know to write,
"Never Forget, Never Forget, You Will Repeat."
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