Loss, loss and more loss
trending toward the ultimate loss
as a dimness slowly but relentlessly
covering one’s own realm
not like Job’s but
more like the black milk of Auschwitz
and Victor Frankl’s last remaining
human freedom:
the freedom to choose one’s attitude.
Powerful in its initial simplicitly; and the starkness of the final lines, catupulted by the references to Auschwitz and Frankl. Well done.
So poignant and powerful! Black milk.
Beautiful!
Powerful poem!
Wow! Your lines “black milk of Auschwitz” —
A poignant reminder of our stark past.