The Ones that Got Away

Counting the bills as they come in,

he can’t hear himself think with all the din.

He took their luggage and what they came with,

maybe he heard the claims of myths.

In his youth he followed laws,

those with death as cause.

He believed in the lies,

as he heard suffering eyes.

Their right was not theirs,

and he didn’t seem to care.

He knew what came ahead,

“. . . they no longer needed them,” he said.

He was right.

He had insight:

of their future, of their dreams,

of their families and beliefs.

He knew their end,

yet his heart did not befriend.

And ’till his last breath,

when he embraced Death,

his heart still would not fully amend.

Patrolling the camp,

was not a sin.

And neither was letter stamps.

But how could it not be?

When he witnessed death and he did not speak,

he did not free, he did not plea.

“. . . took the baby by the legs

and smashed it against the iron door of a truck . . .”

After seeing this, how didn’t he beg?

How couldn’t he speak about this muck?

He spoke.

He spoke too late.

He felt the moral chains.

Was that the end of humanity?

He spoke about his time,

surrounded by Death.

About the world’s largest and grandest grave.

He spoke out of will, yet. . .

yet he felt no compassion,

no guilt, no sympathy.

He felt it now, but did not then.

It wasn’t enough.

He called out on those who lied,

denied.

They spoke myths, deceptions,

untruths to hide their crimes.

“Death camp didn’t happen,”

he could’ve heard them say.

“It was worse than you could imagine,”

he did not say, instead,

he opted for the bitter truth.

But never once defended the Jews.

He admitted to his wrongdoings,

and a few other things.

And now his future depended on another,

just like the imprisoned “others”.

And now, found guilty in both heart and legally,

he would not make it to serve his sentence.

He’s seen Death too many times,

and now is the first he will hold on tight.

He felt the guilt and never got to make it right.

ABOUT: Oskar Groening