Sacrifice by Fire

by Dixiedaisy

Autumn, nineteen forty-three,
my eyes have seen death
piled in ditches
humiliated skeletons
waiting on the crematory.
Naive fool was I
to think I was stronger by surviving,
luring them by droves
covered in lice
promises of showers
gas ones delivered

Survivor
is what I am called, but am not.
Every waking memory
cursed by explicit images,
graphic, but factual,
in all its gory detail.
I want to tell others....
not in order to trespass their thoughts,
as mine are haunted.
We will have died in vain
if you refuse to see.

Every morsel cherished
as I raise the branded arm
that feeds me,
the cursor to my life's tragedy.
Remove it you say?
I dare not
Lest someone forget,
not that I ever could,
it's etched in every crevice of
my yesterdays, my todays,
your tomorrows.