The beauty in them.
Innocence’s veins were clogged with venom.
Lungs, nails, skin, and hearts-
All stained and bled the colour of soot and charcoal.
Each breath was cursed.
Each limb was despised.
Skin was an unholy sight.
Hearts were ill-fated.
Their beauty couldn’t melt the metallic beings.
The smile in them.
Being nourished and filled with
teeth had begun their decomposition.
Noses were bent and numbed from the impacts.
Cheeks were scooped out and hollowed.
Their warm smiles couldn’t shape the metallic beings.
The joy in them.
The lines around their eyes had been replaced.
Backs were scarred with lines upon lines of minor mistakes.
Emotions would be rationed.
Muscles would be incapacitated.
Their joy couldn’t relieve the metallic beings of their duty.
Their names were written on sheets and sheets of paper.
Recorded and checked.
Two words that stained the paper with black.
Two words that stained the Earth with red.
If the metallic men broke free of the rigid mindset that was bestowed;
they would see what was taken from them.
It took me awhile to truly attempt to write this piece. To narrow my mind to one topic was hard until I had a discovery- Which lead me to realize that I didn’t need to focus on just one part. I had begun to ask myself questions such as: What are the building blocks of a person? How can those around us heal from wounds that have occurred in mind and body? I’ve realized that a genocide is a gradual deterioration of a being of flesh and bone. No amounts of stitches or tissue can cover and erase the damage of such events. As we are built up and kept alive with the organs and nourishment given, we can easily be brought down; that being said, this poem was written to show the affects of unshakeable pain.
It was also written to show the power of one’s name. It is considered the first gift one receives but to people who have suffered through genocides, it was a curse. One of the most profound scenes in the movie, Schindler’s List, was the beginning. People, who had only one thing in common, were lined up to give
the one piece of identity that would ultimately be their downfall. It was asked once by a student as to why the Holocaust was the most studied genocide. Why students all over the world don’t branch off to, for there have been and are many other genocides. The answer given was that it simply had the most recorded details. The power of God had been given to pieces of paper, for it decided your fate. It, alone, determined whether or not your family tree would sprout or be hacked into a stump.