In the Unnamed Forest

Morning, wan sun skitters
Across an indolent Baltic
Long empty shores are
Washed by wicked history
Still lined by
Half empty hotels where
Black shirts, white power
Once rested from their
Stupid tiring deception
On the beaches
Chocolate coloured crows
Caw with candied irony
And fight over indiscriminate
Remains of nothingness
In mobs, heading
Inland, into the forest
To a grave of long dead souls
Buried hearts of the wounded
Who were not long cold
Before the end
And ghosts resurrected
By cornered gravediggers
To be burnt to a new death
By industrial flamethrowers
Where the reluctant witness
Still walks the woods
Armed with a camera
And well used tissue
Yes, we forget