I write, dark Jewish-Polish poetry exploring the Holocaust & my families survival. I do nnot write to see my own names carved into the dust; I write because the earth itself cries out with the weight of the trampled, and someone must answer for the quieted dead. The Call of the Voiceless The ink does not belong to me, nor does the breath that drives my pen. How can a man claim ownership over words when he is merely a hollow vessel, a conduit for the over 6 millions who were swept into the ash?