Leaving Behind

I open my eyes,
Just a little to see,
Large men walking out,
I count, one, two, three.
They close the door,
And look outside,
Then they break up,
And go to hide.
An alarm goes off,
The lights are turned on,
As I turn to see,
They break into a run.
Some soldiers come out,
From their sleeping dorm,
And signal the others,
By blasting a horn.
They gather together,
And in a deep bass,
Yell, “Stop where you are!”
And begin to give chase.
But the men do not listen,
They keep running instead,
Cause they know if they stop,
They will soon be dead.
Suddenly one of the men,
Tripped on a brick,
He tried to get up,
But they were coming too quick.
He crashed to the ground,
And cried out in pain,
As the soldiers caught up,
And let the bullets rain.
In seconds he was dead,
Only another name,
Of those mass murdered,
During Hitler’s reign.

But the two other men,
Could never mend,
What had happened that day,
To their dear friend.
So instead they’d ran on,
Now two not three,
Freedom from suffering,
Was all they could see.
They ran as far as they could,
Until their faces were lined,
With tears for the things,
They were leaving behind.
One of those men,
Was my older brother,
The other, the older,
Was my grandfather.
The fallen soldier,
Was also my relation,
I will never forget him;
The second generation.
I will always wonder,
Where they could be,
But my one solemn prayer,
Is that they never, ever,
Forget about me.


This is a poem I wrote for Mrs. Wiebe's novel study that I kept for the heck of it. I promised myself that I would post all my poems, even the old ones that I'm not particularily proud of.