Young men—on the brink of
legitimate adulthood—standing in a line.
Guns cocked, polished shoes planted
firmly on the German soil.
Make us proud sons.
Maintaining perfect stature like gods,
every little tyke wants to be like
the patriotic soldiers with their
menacingly-straight hair parts and their
timed, matching marches.
Broken men—innocence stripped from them
like skin gone after a date with a whip—
lined like cattle.
Suffocated by death, living ghosts of
what they used to be.
A gunshot fires. Many other follow suit.
Exploded skulls, ravished limbs.
Brain matter and robbed organs
embellish the German soil.
“Finally free!” a Jewish man wheezes before
kneeling to vomit scarlet and part from his soul.
Star-bearing bodies thrown and
piled like rotting, old meat.
A cardinal, dressed in a
deep blood-red cloak,
soaring low to the ancient ground.
Abyss-colored eyes scanning,
scouting for worms—
nutrition for her dependent children.
A clear, precise call travels from her
breast to her beak as she
locks in on her prey and dives
confidently toward the peeping head.
A hawk, gliding silently
above the red-winged mother,
flies slyly through the pinkish sky.
A slight smirk tugs at the
edges of his beak as her
backside is shredded in half and her
eyes are clenched in agony,
death replacing her cloak.
Feathers dropped for a child to find,
innards sprawled to feed the hungry,
maggots writhing in the fleshy remains,
scarlet babies left eroding in
a withered, forgotten nest.
Controlled by nature,
We are one.