Poetry

Concentration Camp

 

A midnight sphere.

Everything

veiled in mud.

Shadowed.

 

A Ghost.

Followed by 2,000

Reflections.

Dead.

 

One need,

one plea–

where there could be

a million…

Food.

 

I stand,

starving

freezing

dying

dead.

 

I too,

am a ghost.

I too,

yearn for one thing:

Food.

 

But I am no longer inside,

looking out,

but outside,

looking in.

 

I am free,

a spirit with wings.

I am the butterfly

on the outside

of the fence.

 

~Alverna Hess, sophomore

Our Hands, 1998-1999 Federal Hocking High School Literary Magazine