The Shaft That Is I

This poem was written during an English II class in my sophomore year (so like 5 months ago?) We were supposed to write a poem from the point of view of somebody who was in World War II and while many dealt with the Jews’ point of view, I went with the Nazi’s. The Nazi’s are the shaft, the weapon being controlled by Hitler.




The shaft that is I.

The shaft the went through the air and touched the flesh of those different from my handler.

The shaft that is I.

The skin becomes red and dark pools begin to flounder around the flesh

Because you were different than my handler.

You wore these swatches that indicated your life.

The shaft that is I

Stares at these as my handler takes another swing.

I do not close my eyes as I touch the flesh that is soft and different.

I do not picture how it would be if this flesh was my handler instead.

I follow blindly.

The shaft that is I.

I hear the cruel words that my handler shrieks

The laughter following, madness creaking through him.

The handler that is mine is changing because of

The shaft that is I.

I do not try and stop my handler

I do not see the the problem in the differences

But I’ve come to love the feeling of flesh on my skin.

The shaft that is I

Is becoming more than just a shaft at my handlers side.

The action that is hitting me in the face

Is now the thing that I love and dread.

The shaft that is I.

I begin to loose my thoughts as I see someone different.

I no longer feel sorrow

In fact, I no longer feel.

The shaft that is I

Is not affected by the different skin touching me

As I come back to my handlers side

Now dyed in a red stain.

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