Visiting Berlin I came upon the outside portion of the museum called the Topography of Terror. It is a history of the rise of the National Socialist Party in Germany leading up to War World II. And while that history is never easy to learn, or learn again, it is a must to see and read. Being outside brings on to feel the elements on the body while the soul is forced to encounter the deeds. While no claims of the most unjust can ever be made, I found this picture, this moment in time, to be the foundation of terror in deed. It struck me hard and weakened my stance. And I was left frozen, over and over again. The picture and its text tell the story. All I can do is add my words in a small homage, fit of despair, silent scream to the heavens. 

I write the words I cannot speak, I find myself far too weak.

While I confess the need to scream, tears fill the voice in steady stream.

How could it be and happened then, came to pass by hands of men.

Evil grew upon this earth, such fury, violent, it had no worth.

We let it be a score of years, and now we have a million tears.

Death became a welcome friend, but many found a quicker end.

Unperfect in the demon’s eye, brought to end we have not why.

Just the act of being born, to know not love but only scorn.

I wish the horror could find the note, but no banshee could wail the wrote.

I sit in silence to the world outside, humbled, lost and dark inside.

Find the light of a glory day, never again we all must say.

I have set aside a place for prayer, remember-you is always there.