January 27, 2017
Whispering wind, whisper to me
Open my eyes
For it could have been me,
Counted and numbered and stripped of dignity
To think, that it could have been me.
Children were lost, before they could dream,
Visions were shattered by yesterday's screams.
Battered and beaten and strewn about as waste,
Disposed of in schedule haste.
Ages of dusk
Over the pits, the breeze gently blows,
Six million stars sent up in s m o k e,
Six million souls yet
Stories I hear
Pictures I see
All blend together in Death's imagery
I will remember their whispering plea,
I know …it could happen to me.
Andria Warmflash Rosenbaum/all rights reserved