Their Battle Cry

Slowly I feel
myself turning
gray, like the
memories of
their deprived
lives. As their
battle cry
begins, the
sound of their
names,
resounds in
all their pain.

The turquoise
bruises, mixed
with the crimson
blood on their
shaved and
beaten bodies.
The crystal tears,
stinging the cuts
on their bony,
pale, lifelessly
colored soon to
be remains .

The simplified
horror of the look
on their faces.
The complexity
of their emotions.
The aroma of the
death, among the
streets that have
begun to draw a
line between who
they were, and
who they were
forced to become.

They are but
one massive,
muffled,
soundless
scream in the
pages of our
history. As their
battle cry comes
to an end, we
find that this
has forever
turned into, our
battle cry.

** this poem was inspired after I went to the Holocaust Museum...this is dedicated to everyone who suffered...we WILL carry on your battle cry! enjoy...**

LISSA