Marked for life

Tattooed with numbers,
Counted as prisoners,
Ruled by a man, a disgrace to humanity,
and yet an example of power.
Stripped of their clothes and robbed of their belongings,
Separated from their loved ones and whipped of all dignity.
Lost among their own kind.
Witnessed the murder of one too many of their own.
With eyes wide open, made to watch bullets shot through their people.
The horror of their own sons working for the enemy.
The sons of the land, trained to love no more, to show no mercy.
Life was guaranteed only if your hand worked a trade.
Death was guaranteed if you lifted you head to the enemies glare.
Freedom was a dream and food was a luxury.
A meal consisted of bread and water.
A smile was seen only after the enemy went to sleep.
They sang to their hearts delight when sorrow was too much to handle
For they knew no way out.
What better way to make the best of the life, they knew, could be taken away from them the next day.
They made merry with nothing to call their own but the people who stood besides them.
Escape was not an option, it was as good as death.
Although, to many, death seemed a better option than life in the enemy's camp.
When a way out was finally drawn for them, it was too good to be true.
Some embraced it with open arms and kissed the soil they fell free on.
Others stood and looked at their arms.
Just a number, a tattoo that stood for captivity.
Marked for life.
- Inspired by the movie 'Escape from Sobibor'