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The naked and shivering line of bodies going down the step
to the beat of the black shirted guards in their goosestep
and a moment in time, frozen in the horrors of our imagination
beauty, innocence and the thick ash of the horrid product of stagnation
dogs barking and the horrible rumble of shouting in orders in time
and the naked mothers and babies, quaking in a regimented line
to rush to the steps, on the left, in a crunchy animated snow
and line up indignant, into another damned row
head sheared like a lot of zombied sheep
none of thy dignity left to keep
and the frozen stars above rocked them all to sleep
for herded into a cold waterless shower
a crime against love and the invincible power
into here the gas did steep
a shouting in December
that none would remember
it was the morning of the 25th...............
Georges

George,

This poem seems reminiscent of "Slouching toward Bethlehem" I think you have done well in portraying the horror coupled with the almost mystical line: the frozen stars above rocked them all to sleep.

Thank you, Juliette. The frozen stars rock us all to sleep.
Georges