Poetry
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Amid the wire and winter’s breath,Where silence echoes the song of death,A lone starling perched, dark and small,Sang to the void that answered its call. It fluttered near walls stained by grief,Among the ruins, beyond belief,Its wings beat fast against the grey,A fleeting dance in a world of decay. Above the barracks, cold and bare,It
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Steel serpents carved through dawn’s first light,A journey veiled in darkest night,Crammed boxcars held the silent screams,Of shattered lives and broken dreams. On iron trails, their hopes erased,Through countrysides, the engines raced,Families torn from all they knew,A past that dwindled from their view. No windows showed the path ahead,The air was thick with fear and
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I wish I kept that last Birthday card I wish I could undelete that last voicemail I wish I hadn’t thrown away that last Christmas card I wish I saved and hadn’t deleted that final WhatsApp message I wish I could tell you one more time how much you mean to me I wish to
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On January 12, 1942 at 13:30 Jan Campert died in the Neuengamme concentration camp of pleurisy. Most people will never have heard of this man, he was born on August 15 1902 in Spijkenisse a town near Rotterdam in the Netherlands. He was a journalist, theater critic and writer who lived in Amsterdam.During the German occupation of the
History of Sorts 
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