After Auschwitz

“After Aushwitz there is no more poetry”

— Adorno


These are hard times.


The land frozen under the weight

of a white littered from above


The rivers holding their breath

blue and still in patient repose


The oceans as always watch in retreat

to the depths where death is unknown


Man has tamed nature by distempered dance

unhinged from himself, the mirror holds his story.


What left to do?


Pen to paper

paper to fire

a little light

a shadow cast,

so we may know

we are still there

and can be

scared of ourselves.



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