6 million people
6 million innocent people
Treated as less than the dirt that crunches beneath our feet
Guinea pigs,
tossed aside like the wrapper of a straw,
Forgotten,
A mother and her child, arms stretched, screaming, hoping, that one day they might meet again Hope,
Growing thinner than the pale flesh of their backs,
The silk of life, slipping through the cold tips of their fingers,
Sorrow,
A child clutching the last connection he has to his mother, holding it to his chest as if it’s her he’s holding,
Looking up at the dusty wooden roof above him, pretending there’s stars, whispering goodbyes he was never able to say,
Wishing he could go back, wishing he could do something to hold his mother’s hand once more, to listen to her smooth, gentle, voice,
To see her,
Pain
Aching backs, weak knees and frail arms, but the physical pain couldn’t possibly compare to the raw pain they feel in their hearts,
The pain of knowing that nothing will ever be the same again, the pain of knowing that beyond that fence is nothing but a corrupt, hateful world,
The harsh reality that maybe feeling so much pain is better than feeling nothing at all,
Stripped of life, love, happiness, family, and hope, left with nothing but a body to be labeled with a number,
Release,
Slowly slipping, no longer holding on, accepting what was and dreaming of what could’ve been, Running his fingertips across the dirt ground beneath him one last time, letting his eyes flutter shut,
Gone,
But no longer forgotten.