Whimsical Musings of a Loon

Auschwitz   The gate of iron, the outrageous lies; That work sets free, yet in truth? All dies. Endless horizon, eyes become sore; Claws of barbed wire, for ever more. Red brick, red brick; a sickening trick. Row after row, all the same; Horrifically normal; even mundane. Reality hits, slapped out of slumber. Terror, fear; it’s more than a number. Mountainous items- bags, clothes, a bowl; Each different shoe, belonged to a soul; A life that sang, laughed and cried; A life so taken, cruelly, and died. Wrong indeed, and without cover- To believe one life, more value than another. Cannot un-see; it won’t be rid; Tattooed right into, your closed eyelid. But atrocities we, cannot spurn; Even though it seems, we never learn. I recently visited Auschwitz and here are the photos I took:   I am still processing the experience. It was unlike any other. Something in the pit of my stomach was gnawing the whole time; I think the place surprised me in ways...

Processing power, gradually slowed, Hardware and wires, begin to corrode. Memory leakage, renders in vain, What once was strong, is now on the wane. Bright lights that were a glittering zone, Now grey and dark, the pixels are blown. There's a wretched bug hiding in code, Contaminating; nothing will load. Spiralling icons spinning and pending, Churning and twisting, so never ending. A tiresome flailing nonchalance, Waiting for.....no response. An Epidemic of bugs velcroed in code, And my own sad self, won't try to load.

Peaked arms of comfort, beckon yet mock, The luscious siren of greens & rock; Nature's vast canvas, over it shrouds, Charcoal sunk bleak, nefarious clouds. Majestic beauty so persuasive, Yet icy insults so abrasive.  Drenched relentless, to the beat; Yet un-abating, suffocating heat. Through pain,  Through pleasure, The mountains call. Despite the weary battle fight, Unseen demons of hidden fright; Suddenly I thrive. Suddenly: I become alive.

Your understanding, if exists, is stealth, For comprehending, I can't, even myself. Beneath the surface, a smile will wilt, Shackled, pounded, and wretched guilt. Battled hard at the endless crease, For you I wish, I could give a piece, Desiring to scatter across any, But too colossal, it is too many. With you, so true, I want to stand tall, But please, no tease, And afterall: A stretched band is, a flawed guise, It'll break before, it eventually dies.

Yuletide gaping void of lack, Causes recollecting back. Imagination, rampage wild, Transformed into, wretched child. Tis season jolly, bright and gay, But rotten, forgery, and cliche. Seeking Ghosts, threads entwined, Hidden in corners, of the mind. Intense stillness hangs around, Suspending body, quiet sound, Stinging cold, yet inside warm, Want tomorrow, yet feeling torn, For arrival fast, is such a boon, Yet means all is dead, far too soon. Bombarded with, seasonal finesse, Overwhelm draining, to excess. Suffocating spend, gorging glee, Leaves me polar, numb, empty. Cheer tarnished, excitement dent, Expectation greater, than event. Sudden dawning, sharp like knife, Innocence lost: lachrymose life. Despite all efforts, to re-create. Gasping for air, reluctant, too late, Like a drowning soul, struggling for breath, We cling to memories & fade to death.

Sat right across from me, Drinking hot, steaming tea, Munching on a tasty bun, Whilst reading pages of the Sun. Blackened fingers and thumbs, Covered the table with crumbs. Forgive me whilst I scan, Every detail, Bearded Man. Letting out a disgruntled groan, Trying to text with his phone. And another long, wary sigh, The cake-counter catches eye. Right now I'm your biggest fan, You there Mr Bearded Man. (Drawing and poem by me)