Victims. (1945).

The laughter that rippled through your voice
Like a delicate wave of sunlight;
The electricity of your kiss on mid summers eve;
The warmth of your loving hug;
The turbulence of life that danced in your eyes;
All this has gone now, quite vanished away,
Dispatched in a cart load of human ash
Spread over a Ravensbruck field.
And we who remain, heart weary and cold,
Lost on the far shore of the bleak North Sea,
Know only the ice in the eye of the wind,
Taste the raw salt scuffed in the breaking of waves
As they tear up this beach, where we stand, heads bowed,
Pale orphans of a mad, nihilistic god.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 15th. - 16th. 2015.