Buchenwald

The vile stench of burning flesh immersed Buchenwald.
Barracks, horded with living carcasses- ravenous, void, callous
Shriveled beings trudged along the beaten path, towards the incinerator, with its crimson flames whipping the hazy air.
Sheer skeletons bore the brunt of the Gestapo’s ruthlessness.
The coarse whip thrashed the hide of the desperate, and bullets pierced their
damaged hearts.
Frail bodies land on the fertile soil, derelict.
No tears, no mourning, futile sentiment, for there is little discrepancy between the lifeless and the breathing.
All this, generated from the thirst for supremacy.
Spellbinding the masses with fierce words, he casts a light on the ignorant.
Persuading to detest the innocents, his message envelopes the masses of devotees - ruthless, bloodthirsty, and rash they are, drowning in the ocean of Hitler’s reign.
The master race created, with eyes as blue as the prisoner’s uniform.
And hair as gold as the Star of David.