I am a man of Poland, man in a land invaded.
I am but content, that my house has not been raided.
I walk up, to my silent home, why does my wife ignore me.
I see my wife and son dead on the floor before me.
JEW, JEW, on the wall in blood like a damned profanity
I look in fear at the madness and insanity.
Two months I have walked the earth and no relief I have yet found.
One day, I saw soldier push a Rabbi to the ground.
He sees the symbol on my neck and puts the rifle to my head.
I now know he wants to make me like the poor Rabbi, Dead.
I wrestle him and put his own bullet through his Heart.
He writhes in pain and hit the dirt, like a twisted work of art.
I know and fear that in hell, I shall soon sit.
But I am more surprised that I was good at it.
So that day, I sold my soul to the dark.
And longer can I walk amongst, the free and lark.
The kraut soldier walks down the street, I crouch down in the Dairy.
He gets a bullet through his head, first to fall to the Mercenary.
Aidan Ross
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birth-of-despair/
