Dachau Concentration Camp

January 19, 2009
 
Dachau is naked.
 
White fog smokes heavily across the camp,
thickness upon our hearts.
 
The guards used to smoke there, cigars under thick mustaches.
 
I can taste the decay-still lingers in the ovens,
hungry mouths of hate.
 
The oppressed would rather rise up in flames
than stay on those grounds
stripped to the dirt of truth.
 
Barracks lined up in long trains
like the black ones that tricked them into riding.
Wooden beds here
that slept so many spines.
 
Dachau is naked,
branches like twisted bodies in the trees.