I hear them marching through the gates

And shudder at the sounds of their boots

I hear them shouting and cursing our lives

And the banging of bayonets on the tin roofs


I feel the cold wind drifting within

The spaces between my bones

And think back to forgotten places

Of our families and our homes


I smell the scent of burning

The charring of innocent flesh

And count on one bony hand

The number of souls that are left


I taste the sense of despair

That hovers all around the room

And knowing that any of us

Could meet our end any time soon


I can see the end that is coming

Even though I am now blind

And I weep in silence for all those souls

That have been forgotten and left behind