Disclaimer: Oskar Schindler was real. But the poem is my own work. Well, duh.
I.
Will.
Die.
Alone.
Cold, suffering, and poor.
I.
Do.
Not.
Care.
If my bottle is full.
As
Long.
As.
I.
Saved.
Those people who would have been hurt, killed.
Why.
Am.
I.
Still.
Alive, my heart is still beating.
I.
Cast.
Off.
My.
Ring.
For the stone is too cold.
My.
Heart.
Is.
Dying.
But I feel the same.
Drown.
All.
The.
Pain.
In a clear glass bottle.
The.
List.
Wasn't.
Long.
Enough to save them all.
I.
Killed.
Those.
I.
Couldn't.
Save, for I let them die in camps of hate.
Sleep.
Should.
Come.
So.
Blissfully relieving, the pain lifting.
I.
Am.
Sorry.
I.
Couldn't save them all.
I wrote this in all of two minutes so it might sound off. I suck at rhyming and I'm trying out new formats (if you haveb't noticed!)
Yours,
Fel