Six of Hearts

(After breaking cyanide capsules in the mouths of her six children, Magda Goebbels returned to the bunker, sat and played Patience).

Where are the yelps and the cries now, Magda,

Where did the squeals and the laughter go?

Where the bright eyes and the sighs now, Magda?

Gone where the shadows of darkness go!

 

What of your trembling hands now, Magda,

What of the tears from your eyes that flow?

Playing your Patience for time now, Magda,

Soon you will know what the others know!

 

These are the cards that have fallen, Magda,

Helga and Hilde, and Helmut, your son,

These were the fruit of your lies now, Magda,

Holde and Hedda and Hiede undone!

 

Loyalty comes at a price now, Magda,

Takes you unsteadily into the yard,

Wait the release of the bullet, Magda,

Taking each memory, bitter and scarred!

 

Waiting, you think of the card game, Magda,

Nothing would work in the fall of the cards,

You think of the one card lost there, Magda,

It comes with a bullet - the Six of Hearts!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

can you imagine what there lives would have been...on the other hand, our lives are ours to unfold as we can...as for her, she had the high of it, and owed the low

[Ed Hart]

you would think, being undone, there would be room for enough doubt to save the children...i mean, even the egyptians didn't take the kids along

[Doreen]

So very sad. I hadn't heard of this woman until your poem, and looked her up. What a sad, sad and horrifying tale. Your poem is wonderful and, as always, perfectly crafted. I love your work!

[Valentine]

Gobbels...Hitler's man fron WW!! correct..A very grusome tale..and true if I know you and your brilliant mind..love and God bless Mate..Kathie

[Bubo]

Such an awful tale that a mother could do this..........great descriptions in your words, and your anger shines through clearly, but still sadness underlies each line.

[Lena M. P.]

Oh your muse is definitely back David. Gave me chills.

[David Lewis Paget]

Thanks Ferg - I have no idea! The mechanics of poetry are beyond me... With me, it's purely instinctive.

[Ferg]

One wonders what would drive her to do this? This piece has impeccable rhythm and flow, with 10 syllables per line and a perfectly structured rhyme scheme. Very difficult to construct such a piece with this degree of precision, but you never fail to find just the right words to make the poem flow like liquid gold. It is like a sonnet, but not quite...is there a name for this structure?