Ashes

4/22/12 — March of the Living — Majdanek

My feet inch forward as the wooden boards creak from over use. 

Windows let light onto the floor, keeping the sheltered ceiling dark. 

A darkness fills the room, burning the odor to the inside of my nostrils. 

My spine intermittently shakes, sprouting ice cold hills and valleys. 

My hand traces the wall, uncertain of what it's feeling, passing over the blue blotches of tears. 

A rush seizes control of my legs, forcing them to the comfortable daylight. 

My chest tightens, compressing my air to short gasps. 

My eyes decide to close shut, trying to contain the uneven streams of water. 

I circle around and face the locked iron door keeping the room from the outside world.

 

Shuffling is heard on the other side as my mind replaces the foot steps with screams.

 

Water starts to sprinkle, diminishing the sounds to nothingness. 

My legs jerk again, my mind ignores all, blocking the world out. 

Flashes of uniforms, half-broken dolls, and faces permeate my mind. 

My feet take me to the entrance of the end. 

Portals of heat suck in still objects, forgetful of their meaning, and turns matter to ash. 

Dreams immersed in fire become nightmares. 

The ashes are scooped, piled, stacked. 

A hill becomes a mountain. 

Two entangled triangles surround the remains as voices open up,

clinging to the extinguished inferno of the past. 

Each voice synchronizes with the other. 

The interlinked arms become one. 

The voices reincarnate the ashes into dreams, 

the dreams into future, 

and the future into life as the ashes become no more.