The most remarkable thing
the somber silence,
the quiet always maintained,
no matter how large
the crowd inside.
She read “A Tale of Two Cities”that first day, a story of men
seized with madness,
determined to destroy.
What did she read
on her last day here? Or
what did she live
on her last day here?
The silence of crowds
replicates the silence
of the eight who lived here
for a time, lives
constricted and contained
within old storerooms
full of hope and dust.
This poem is submitted for One Shot Wednesday hosted by One Stop Poetry. The links will be live at 4 p.m. Central time today.
Photograph: Anne Frank House by Essential Architecture.
Beautiful Glynn...just beautiful.
What memories lie ingrained within the walls? What secret lifetimes lie forever lost therein? Hope and dust...so many like that child lay wrapped in such, for so long, condemned to hide within books and attics...a pity of a thing, a *horror* of thing, but your words encapsulated it all, and beautifully so.
there they remain for sure
I think I've read every book/memoir-related piece about Anne Frank, and several editions of her diary. May she never be forgotten.
lovely write...i imagine there are many stories that once filled those walls...
hope and dust
in the silence
one can imagine
Excellent write Glynn, all old houses have a story, mine is haunted I'm sure of it. Beautiful lines here my friend x
Excellent piece Glynn, and having seen the house in person I can tell that you have captured the essence of the place very well.
A poem with echoes in its walls. I first read her diary when I was about her age and I will never ever forget it. Nor should the world forget, and obviously you haven't, what a universal human document it is.
powerfully moving ...
A beautiful tribute... and perfect imagery.. I could almost touch the silence..
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
Connect with me at Twitter @VerseEveryDay
Grat capture of time, place, feeling.
You've done it agian Glynn!
a very descriptive piece. great one!
Wow, Glynn, have you ever been there? This is good.
I read your poem before I looked at the photo. I remembered an empty house across the street from my grandparents. The man, a widower had died and my cousins thought it would be mysterious and on a dare two of us opened a window and went in. Your poem echoes the feelings I had there. Looking at the lives of two dead people yet their life dusted over was on display for two pre-teen girls. Extrapolating that with Anne Frank's life is a chilling and disturbing enjambment. These were old people, she so full of life. Excellent write, my friend.
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