The annexe of misfortune: – poetry

The annexe of misfortune:

 

Cold, dreary and somber are the emotions that run through the beating heart of the annexe.

 

The smells of stale summer air flow through the cracks, a hint of spice from the warehouse below.

 

The only news is misfortune and the only food is hope.

 

Could huddling for warmth degrade their worth in the eyes of some who take away their rights to even breathe, to be human?

 

The two families merge as one throughout the year – becoming like the tides, ever near and yet ever far.

 

Thoughts of hope flow through ink to paper, the annexe calls – from within the cold dark walls, and fogged windows.

 

Radio broadcasts the outside world, it seems so foreign, and so frightening to her that people that they knew are being stolen in the night.

 

All the propaganda making Jews feel like herded cattle, only one direction- to the slaughterhouse, the annexe feels the fear of those whom she protects, a souls combined cloaking is the only safety they have left.

 

Like whispers, the nights cold air rustles through the cracks of the annexe, for fear of feeling the families have no heater – no material worth, for it was striped away when peole found out about what their worship is worth.

 

Poison is the power of some at the helm of a revolution for the masses – The poison that proves evil can see no truth – no truth of the future, or of the families  that he holds in his hands.

 

Cradling shelter the annex gives to many- although misfortune is around the corner and the sirens make breathing heavy.

 

Heavy are the hearts of  those who carry on, a candle’s light flickers- like a lone birds song.

 

Emotions as bitter as the food that they eat – fighting over who in which family has the bigger piece, of the dust on their plates that they have to eat.

 

But in this house of misfortune, a diary it does contain with the hopes of a young girl running through the papers veins.

 

From this hope, a story of the the house in which it contains- a little girl and her big family-  all but one, never to be seen again.

 

Goodbye, said  Anne- you were my only true friend.  – Danielle Parrish

(based of of the diary entry, friday 10th of march – 1944)

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