The Flowers of Auswchwitz

by michaelcahill

    It is my hell

   That I revisit
  Mine

           The memory of it

                     My life
        That has grown from it

         Shall I not despise
       This field of wildflowers
Riotous in colour
   That dares grow
          From this unholy ground?

              It is a grave you decorate
         Mass and massive

              It is a smile you invite
     And a sigh

       Each tortured soul
   With its very own floral headstone

          There are no tears here
          Where tears should be

              No regret
            No sorrow
             No guilt
              No indignation

         It is as though we each
        Are only single flowers
                  Clinging together
        Desperately drawing attention

                From the graveyard ...

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