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My Greatest Horror (II)
It might be said it could have been
that day in October,
when the soldiers came to my school.
I was twelve; I remember it
like yesterday:
the way they came into the room,
the way two of them grabbed
our teacher by the shoulder
and dragged her from the class,
the way the others stood there
without a word, without emotion
for what seemed like hours;
the way they herded us
when they were ready,
out of the classroom,
onto the schoolyard.
They made us line up,
perfectly straight, without noise.
After they slapped down the
first child who disobeyed,
it really wasn't hard for them to do.
We stood watching, as they dragged
our teacher, beaten and bloodied,
into the center of the yard,
not more than twenty feet in front of us.
We stood there
afraid to move,
afraid to cry out.
We stood there, watched in horror
as one soldier raised his rifle to her head
and pulled the trigger.
I still remember being sent home that day.
It was the last day of school I would ever have.
to that point, that moment in life.
Yes, you could say this was my greatest horror.
Of course, I knew nothing of the days,
months, years that would follow.
Nearly a week later was another day.
My father came home from work, early.
I could hear him and mother talking.
They were moving us away
to some place "safe".
There was talk that people might hurt us
if we stayed. There was talk
that they would do the same if we left.
Still, there was no choice.
The soldiers were coming the next day.
I left my house, the only home I had ever had.
We left with so many others,
all piled into so many trains like cattle.
We did everything we could to stay together
but even that didn't last very long.
When the train stopped, they divided us.
They sent some of us left, some of us right.
They shot the first man that stood up to argue.
The rest of us fell into place.
I screamed when they took my parents,
made them go right, then made me go left.
I screamed half a scream, anyway.
A soldier hit me in the back with his gun.
I fell to the ground at his feet.
A kind-looking man helped me up.
"You'll see them later," he promised.
Even then, I was afraid this was a lie.
At that point, it would be easy to say
this was my greatest horror.
What I didn't know is that this
wasn't even going to come close.
I saw that man again a few days later.
We were hungry; we were filthy.
We had not slept.
Soldiers were leading us to
a group of buildings at the gate.
Again, so many people went left,
and so many people went right.
The man had been standing behind me,
softly counting to himself.
Without a word, at the last moment,
he grabbed me firmly by the shoulders
and stepped in front.
They sent him left.
They sent me right.
A few days later, my greatest horror
came to me then, when I realized
they had sent him to the showers.
I knew it should have been me.
Then there was the day
they took away my name.
To them, I became nothing more
than a number they burned into my arm.
They said it made it easier to keep track of us.
We all knew it just made it easier for them
to make us impersonal, so it would be
easier for them to go home to their families
and sleep at night.
Many horrors followed after that.
There was time the soldiers came
in the middle of the night.
They raped a girl who was sleeping
next to me. There were five of them.
This was the most terrified I had ever been.
Of course, one week later, they came for me.
There were so many days,
filled with work for the lucky;
so many nights filled with terror for us all.
So many of us went in;
so few of us that were finally left.
When we were "liberated" from that camp,
my greatest horror
was to find out I had no family left at all.
Looking back, it seems to me
there were so many days one could choose
as the greatest horror.
For many, this would certainly have been enough.
But to say my greatest horror happened
so many years ago would be untruthful.
For me, it is as close to me as yesterday;
simply twenty-four hours have passed since then.
I was sitting in the park, alone,
reading my book, taking time
now and then, as I often do,
to do nothing but listen to the children as they play.
Not far away from my favorite bench,
this young couple was sitting together,
watching their daughter
as she took her turn to swing on the swings.
They sat on the grass, side by side on a blanket,
so close to each other, it was touching,
and they shared with each other a book
that held their interest. They would stop reading
and discuss the contents, and every now and then,
set it aside again to check their child's welfare.
A couple of hours passed. They and I
had reached the point of time to go home.
The couple got up from their blanket,
called to their daughter, and started to leave.
I noticed they had left the book behind,
lying on the ground under the tree.
I hurried over to try and catch them
before they were out of sight.
I was standing over this book,
when the horror came.
The words from the cover
leapt directly into my soul.
Bold black letters:
"The Holocaust -- The World's Greatest Lie."
I fell to my knees and with trembling hands
I took up this book, forced myself
to fumble through it,
page by agonizing page.
I gathered my strength,
strength I had long forgotten,
stood up and hunted down this couple.
I returned to them this book,
this travesty in print.
I showed them my burned-in numbers
on my arm. Before I left them,
they both were in tears.
And yes, then and only then,
my GREATEST horror came,
when I realized:
who will do this
when we, those few who survived,
are gone?
Ed Roberts 5/18/05
www.apoetslaststand.com
(Edited by Wanda Roberts, George Manos,
and Ursula T. Gibson, Poetry Editor, Poetic Voices)
I wanted to post both the original version and this edited version of this poem on my site. I especially want to thank Ursula with her help on this.
that day in October,
when the soldiers came to my school.
I was twelve; I remember it
like yesterday:
the way they came into the room,
the way two of them grabbed
our teacher by the shoulder
and dragged her from the class,
the way the others stood there
without a word, without emotion
for what seemed like hours;
the way they herded us
when they were ready,
out of the classroom,
onto the schoolyard.
They made us line up,
perfectly straight, without noise.
After they slapped down the
first child who disobeyed,
it really wasn't hard for them to do.
We stood watching, as they dragged
our teacher, beaten and bloodied,
into the center of the yard,
not more than twenty feet in front of us.
We stood there
afraid to move,
afraid to cry out.
We stood there, watched in horror
as one soldier raised his rifle to her head
and pulled the trigger.
I still remember being sent home that day.
It was the last day of school I would ever have.
to that point, that moment in life.
Yes, you could say this was my greatest horror.
Of course, I knew nothing of the days,
months, years that would follow.
Nearly a week later was another day.
My father came home from work, early.
I could hear him and mother talking.
They were moving us away
to some place "safe".
There was talk that people might hurt us
if we stayed. There was talk
that they would do the same if we left.
Still, there was no choice.
The soldiers were coming the next day.
I left my house, the only home I had ever had.
We left with so many others,
all piled into so many trains like cattle.
We did everything we could to stay together
but even that didn't last very long.
When the train stopped, they divided us.
They sent some of us left, some of us right.
They shot the first man that stood up to argue.
The rest of us fell into place.
I screamed when they took my parents,
made them go right, then made me go left.
I screamed half a scream, anyway.
A soldier hit me in the back with his gun.
I fell to the ground at his feet.
A kind-looking man helped me up.
"You'll see them later," he promised.
Even then, I was afraid this was a lie.
At that point, it would be easy to say
this was my greatest horror.
What I didn't know is that this
wasn't even going to come close.
I saw that man again a few days later.
We were hungry; we were filthy.
We had not slept.
Soldiers were leading us to
a group of buildings at the gate.
Again, so many people went left,
and so many people went right.
The man had been standing behind me,
softly counting to himself.
Without a word, at the last moment,
he grabbed me firmly by the shoulders
and stepped in front.
They sent him left.
They sent me right.
A few days later, my greatest horror
came to me then, when I realized
they had sent him to the showers.
I knew it should have been me.
Then there was the day
they took away my name.
To them, I became nothing more
than a number they burned into my arm.
They said it made it easier to keep track of us.
We all knew it just made it easier for them
to make us impersonal, so it would be
easier for them to go home to their families
and sleep at night.
Many horrors followed after that.
There was time the soldiers came
in the middle of the night.
They raped a girl who was sleeping
next to me. There were five of them.
This was the most terrified I had ever been.
Of course, one week later, they came for me.
There were so many days,
filled with work for the lucky;
so many nights filled with terror for us all.
So many of us went in;
so few of us that were finally left.
When we were "liberated" from that camp,
my greatest horror
was to find out I had no family left at all.
Looking back, it seems to me
there were so many days one could choose
as the greatest horror.
For many, this would certainly have been enough.
But to say my greatest horror happened
so many years ago would be untruthful.
For me, it is as close to me as yesterday;
simply twenty-four hours have passed since then.
I was sitting in the park, alone,
reading my book, taking time
now and then, as I often do,
to do nothing but listen to the children as they play.
Not far away from my favorite bench,
this young couple was sitting together,
watching their daughter
as she took her turn to swing on the swings.
They sat on the grass, side by side on a blanket,
so close to each other, it was touching,
and they shared with each other a book
that held their interest. They would stop reading
and discuss the contents, and every now and then,
set it aside again to check their child's welfare.
A couple of hours passed. They and I
had reached the point of time to go home.
The couple got up from their blanket,
called to their daughter, and started to leave.
I noticed they had left the book behind,
lying on the ground under the tree.
I hurried over to try and catch them
before they were out of sight.
I was standing over this book,
when the horror came.
The words from the cover
leapt directly into my soul.
Bold black letters:
"The Holocaust -- The World's Greatest Lie."
I fell to my knees and with trembling hands
I took up this book, forced myself
to fumble through it,
page by agonizing page.
I gathered my strength,
strength I had long forgotten,
stood up and hunted down this couple.
I returned to them this book,
this travesty in print.
I showed them my burned-in numbers
on my arm. Before I left them,
they both were in tears.
And yes, then and only then,
my GREATEST horror came,
when I realized:
who will do this
when we, those few who survived,
are gone?
Ed Roberts 5/18/05
www.apoetslaststand.com
(Edited by Wanda Roberts, George Manos,
and Ursula T. Gibson, Poetry Editor, Poetic Voices)
I wanted to post both the original version and this edited version of this poem on my site. I especially want to thank Ursula with her help on this.
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My Greatest Horror (II)
My Greatest Horror (II)