More Than A Story - Dustin Vado
Written for Holocaust Memorial Day 2017, 18 Haikus/American Sentences
Miles of bodies pose for ignorant audiences looking away.
Efficient wolves brand their prey with black saliva, unfazed by young tears.
No coin can buy a curtain for a theater attended by ghosts.
No storm of gas falling from faucets could wash dirty consciences clean.
No mound of dirt can silence prayers of haunted faith pleading to beyond.
No grain of sand falls to glass without an echo of hammer smashing.
No circle can be taught to stand in line without sketching it broken.
No lesson can be learned from teachers who look to the back of the book.
No people can thrive on blood alone while thirsting for Heaven’s rivers.
No sweet heart can frolic with a rifle as surrogate for Father.
No man can tell a tale without breath to scream names of those who snatched it.
No glass can be raised to life and health when evil proclaims l’chaim first.
Drop of rain falls next to sobs of God’s cypher, lucky to be alive.
Last words hang in smoke emitted by pampered dreamers smiling in trance:
“This nightmare is over;
may it stay caught in webs woven by the brave.”
Long gentle winds displace a spider’s silk victory left unmaintained,
New rivers of salvation flow with songs of hope difficult to play.
Doomed to repeat,
may we not take for granted
stories of somber end.
Miles of bodies pose for ignorant audiences looking away.
Efficient wolves brand their prey with black saliva, unfazed by young tears.
No coin can buy a curtain for a theater attended by ghosts.
No storm of gas falling from faucets could wash dirty consciences clean.
No mound of dirt can silence prayers of haunted faith pleading to beyond.
No grain of sand falls to glass without an echo of hammer smashing.
No circle can be taught to stand in line without sketching it broken.
No lesson can be learned from teachers who look to the back of the book.
No people can thrive on blood alone while thirsting for Heaven’s rivers.
No sweet heart can frolic with a rifle as surrogate for Father.
No man can tell a tale without breath to scream names of those who snatched it.
No glass can be raised to life and health when evil proclaims l’chaim first.
Drop of rain falls next to sobs of God’s cypher, lucky to be alive.
Last words hang in smoke emitted by pampered dreamers smiling in trance:
“This nightmare is over;
may it stay caught in webs woven by the brave.”
Long gentle winds displace a spider’s silk victory left unmaintained,
New rivers of salvation flow with songs of hope difficult to play.
Doomed to repeat,
may we not take for granted
stories of somber end.
