My Name is Anne

In the attic of rigid wood

I sit denied any motion,

We were forced here, as no one should

We’re waiting without any notion.

 

Everyone shrouded in a blanket of silence

Until the sun goes down

The Fascist Swirl that takes offence,

And tries to bring us aground .

 

The rumbling gears beneath, are stopped

The sign that it’s okay

To rise and talk all through the night

Until again it is day.

 

Repetitions of “ Why we are here ?”

Or “what have I done for this ?”

I’m quickly responded the end of it’s near,

As we hide form Adolf’s fist.

 

The night was just as normal as any

We all gathered round the table

Not like before, a table of plenty

Like in a poor-house stable.

 

As we eat and talk of all

Old memories bring us peace

When did this good ol’ country fall,

Into the jaws of this great beast.

 

We heard an incessant rattling,

As the front factory door swung open

My father motioned us,

All to turn out the lights.

 

As in this dark abyss I sit

My hands begin to tremble,

It will all be over in a bit,

To myself I began to mumble

With each step of the man beneath

Just like peace-breaking thunder,

You could almost hear the grinding teeth,

Of my friends, father and mother.

 

The entry to our secret home

Swung open in the dark,

The silhouette of a man alone

Did he come to join a lark?

 

He shouted and let other men in,

To then their lights did show

“What have we done” is still my question

Had they ever answered.  No.

 

But now I know why, all of this.

Because of one man’s pride

To Jews he gave a deadly kiss

And more other millions died.

This poem is about: 
My family
Our world

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