Ash

The wind is beneath me, and I've taken flight,
As I gently fall from the sky.

Side to side I begin to sway, all around me only gray.
Thick like heavy snow, blanketing the ground below.

Each of us free at last,
From the suffering at their hands.

Each one of our stories would leave you aghast,
But they need to be told as to not repeat the past.

That morning was cold and one I'll never forget.
It was the day the ash began to fall, and we would learn their intent.

Our family torn asunder, as the train rolled in like thunder.
Where they were taking us, I did not know, and time just seemed to slow.

When the doors swung open, the sun was bright; it was hard to take in the sight.
The fire was stoked and flames filled the sky, the fear within began to rise.

The air was that of fetid breath, the wretched smell of death.

We were counted and stripped;
the humiliation something I cannot depict.

They took the crown upon my head,
while tears welled up that I dare not shed.

Tattooed and forced to live a life of servitude.

The apogee a march of death,
To a chamber to steal my breath.

To be known by a number and no longer a name,
All because hate fanned the flame.