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Poem
This was written for History class. It's a poem I wrote after reading 'Night', by Elie Wiesel. It's about a Jewish boy going to a concentration camp. It makes sense if you read the book, ^^
~*Written 12/2/01*~
Litte Tzipora, it was too heavy for her.
The heavy bundle, slipping, whilst they yelled "faster" and struck the others.
She gritted her teeth and she didn't complain
And it was from then on that I hated them.
From the first night on, it's always been Night.
Children, scared and afraid.
Before, they laughed and they played.
Now I see the smoke. The children.
Drifting up towards God.
Now, here is my father.
Beaten with an iron bar.
Collapsed because he is not strong enough.
It's his fault. He should have known better.
The gallows, the hangings.
"Long live liberty!" they cry, before their end.
The child hung, but still alive. Still fighting.
I wonder why. Why does he fight?
They throw morsels into our midst,
And we descend upon each other like dogs.
Sons, killing their fathers.
My father lying, dying.
I give him water to quench his thirst.
The guard clouts him on the head.
And he dies, I'm free at last.
Juliek, making msuic in his grave.
Notes of purity in the silence.
His life on violin strings,
His audience was death.
Long, long ago, I could weep.
I would talk to Moshe about God.
"You'll find the true answers, Eliezer, only within yourself!"
Man questions, and God's answers are burned in your soul.
His answers are within me. If only I knew how to find them.
~*Written 12/2/01*~
Litte Tzipora, it was too heavy for her.
The heavy bundle, slipping, whilst they yelled "faster" and struck the others.
She gritted her teeth and she didn't complain
And it was from then on that I hated them.
From the first night on, it's always been Night.
Children, scared and afraid.
Before, they laughed and they played.
Now I see the smoke. The children.
Drifting up towards God.
Now, here is my father.
Beaten with an iron bar.
Collapsed because he is not strong enough.
It's his fault. He should have known better.
The gallows, the hangings.
"Long live liberty!" they cry, before their end.
The child hung, but still alive. Still fighting.
I wonder why. Why does he fight?
They throw morsels into our midst,
And we descend upon each other like dogs.
Sons, killing their fathers.
My father lying, dying.
I give him water to quench his thirst.
The guard clouts him on the head.
And he dies, I'm free at last.
Juliek, making msuic in his grave.
Notes of purity in the silence.
His life on violin strings,
His audience was death.
Long, long ago, I could weep.
I would talk to Moshe about God.
"You'll find the true answers, Eliezer, only within yourself!"
Man questions, and God's answers are burned in your soul.
His answers are within me. If only I knew how to find them.