Dämonen

Author's Note: Wow, another "deep" metaphorical poem. So edgy. But really, though, this poem takes place during the aftermath of WWII. The title, if it isn't pretty obviously a cognate, is German for "Demons". Basically, it's an analogous...erm...analogy to the eviler face of humanity, and the destruction it can - it has - caused. Enjoy!...I think?

Was it worth it?

I'll ask again.

Was it worth it?

Of course it wasn't.

It never is.

Animals.

we're animals;

nothing more.

Human?

Impossible.

Cruel.

Damn straight.

Some call us monsters.

Who?

The faces in the snow;

the bodies in the courtyard;

the ashes in the field;
the bullet holes and charred skin;
it's so hard to forget.

Perhaps we have to remember.

Perhaps.

Perhaps there is some far off shore;

away from the trains,

the screams and sobs at night,

with crystal-clear water;

sand, white as silk;

a cool, tall Cocoa tree,

begging me to rest under its shade;

Out of the light.

Hidden.

Exactly.

And if there isn't?

Perhaps there is another world;

in which the trains never came,

the ovens never roared,

the chambers stayed empty;

God is forgiving in that one.

I hope.

And if he isn't?

If no God forgives a man of these actions,

he is making the right choice;

I'd rather face an eternity in Hell than

one

more

night

in the camps;

Watching the rats gnaw at their fingers,

watching their souls dig for freedom.

waiting,

oh so quietly, like a leaf suspended in the cool, night air,

for the moment they rot.

And if they don't?

They always do.

They always do.