A Single Track.

Nobody told me I couldn’t

so I walked along the single track,

a phantom sound

from somewhere close by

and the barb wire scratches the lens

of the camera as I try to take

a poignant picture; no guards,

the solemn vow of the past

being picked apart

rivet by rivet

as I get to about one hundred yards

down the track

and the fear still seeps through my shoes

as I imagine the terror that this final stop

in gas and smoke and bullet

in the land of foul stench

of Human ideology.


Ian D. Hall 2016