Psalm D
He recommended a book—my philosophy teacher—
He who carried a weapon—he who sought out experience—
The book brought me to tears—empathy, grief, agony, sorrow—
The hardest I ever cried—
The author and title I cannot remember—just the despair—
For the Jews—for the Germans—for the wreck of the human race—
Death Camp—chem-lab gas—genocide mechanical—hatred perfected—
My eyes cried to blobs—
The commandant so proud—his medals glistening his dinner attire—
The ladies charming his pride—thoughts of their own—skirts sweeping—
The rumble of trains—too distant—too dark—condemning—
Humans like cattle to the slaughter—
At the reading I trembled—needed air—a lonely trail I walked—
My tears washed my horror—how—how could they do it?—how?—
How could my kin be brought so low?—are we not good?—no?—
Have we ruined ourselves?—yes?—
With their temple now gone—the Jews—two millennia now—
How is it such feelings—love or hate—they compel—
People honor their festivals—protest their ways—
Are the Jews yet the people of God?
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