By brian francis

You can see this shattered place
Its bones still lay upon the land
Orderly rows of columns rise
Obelisks throughout it all
Memorials of this place of horrors
Where the meek huddled
Awaiting their demise
You can imagine them walking bye
Letting a hand brush the bricks
As they pass

Trains have left their tracks behind
Detached from the mainline
Like a limb amputated for its cancer
Still, the great gate stands welcoming
Its edifice the shame of a nation
A secret side door into hades
The starved flesh worn Innocents
The chosen; cinders and mass graves
Echoes with the cries of sorrow and sadness
Tears fall now for the idea that was thought
How could it be done

Gone are the guards who fled in shame
Images in black and white reveal insights
Sardines, barely able to lift their heads
When Hammer and sickle brought liberty
Seasoned soldiers used to death
Cried and bawled at the real truth
Man’s sins anoint us all in here
We walk away with nightmares dancing
Upon our minds as we feel the cancer
Our garment becomes shame

Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Published by

B. F. O'Connor

Born and raised in the idyllic environment of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. A rural paradise perfect for a roving childhood. Now living in the desert southwest, with a flock of parrots, a pigeon, and Three dogs.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s