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  • at a certain time of night a sadness grows
    all the answered questions are questionable
    resolutions unresolved
    and hideous nagging doubting Toms
    cry their ugly defiant chatter
    in shadows remaining unlit
    I lie and ponder the wake of dawn
    the moment when freedom rings
    when the people that went before
    circle and enclose my spirit
    a wee lad
    away from the doubting Toms and locked keys of ill will
    resting beyond the jealousy of regret or sorrow of wasted love
    to a place where mushrooms grow and wild berries stain children’s fingers.

    I watch, through a glass window pane
    a candle flickers as a registrar
    keeping records of names
    births and deaths
    each recorded, each stamped
    and with each name my grandfather recites
    “register away hurt, anger, betrayal and hatred.
    here is my offering, i give this to you
    a child so open to life
    a child so open to love
    a child from the era of hours of sadness past
    from this pen of births and deaths
    I offer you recognition of trust and love.
    I give this to you. Take it."

    I query and query,
    fumbling my locked keys,
    proud of my status
    calloused by my survival
    my survival, my survival
    i turn away,
    and leave all behind.

    holocaust. Isaiah was the registrar in a small village on the border of the Caspian Mountain Range in then Austria. Time period WWII.
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