אֱמֶת
Language fuels our minds,
Courses through our blood,
Just as our blood cells,
We look upon our past and take for granted
The blood that was shed for us
Six million gone,
Not swiftly or painlessly,
Terror rings through us
Language is lost
There is a language that is lost to us
It is not yet gone, but dying
Slowly, just as those who did not make it
I weep,
For I am Golem,
And my words were taken from me
מֵת
When we place our words in you,
When we open your mouth and drop our hushed whispers within,
I wonder,
How much of it do you hear?
Can you understand?
When we speak your legs into movement,
When we sing your arms into shields,
I wonder,
do you feel it?
Can you see us?
Do you remember being our protector,
Long before we knew we would still need you,
Far, far into the cruel future,
The new centuries tainted with blood and gas and tears and burning ash,
Do you hear us?
Are you there?
If you do, if it isn't too much to ask,
I would feel much better if you made yourself known,
That we may speak you into existence again,
And, maybe, we can feel safe again.