Death March
By Dawn Illsley
We marched like dead souls,
Through hallways, not stopping.
Not daring.
Like the end was our fate.
I feel the shame,
The disgrace.
We quietly weeped,
As we shuffled upstairs,
It’s still, silence I heard,
On that ghostly trek.
My life faded away,
I was stuck there in that place,
Reality dissolved,
Time took a break.
Those little rooms,
Housing ghosts.
The walls paper thin like a dolls house.
Why is it,
Words pour out,
When tears are flowing.
I saw a pile of shoes
They didn’t need anymore.
Telling a story
Of loss,
Of life never led.
A pile of shoes,
In someone’s porch,
makes me think,
Of that day in May.
The deafening silence.
That I witnessed.
The life that was erased.
(Visiting the Anne Frank Museum)
Dawn's Chronicles 