Nazis, Hell, and Coping

An Eclipse Poem of Sorts

Bailey Buckner
Aug 21, 2017 · 2 min read

I haven’t been writing much lately.

I seem to have misplaced my words.

Or perhaps I just have too many.


When I sit down at my desk,

I wonder,

what should I address first?

The Nazis?

Seems reasonable until I pick up a pen.

Then I think,

Nazis? Really?

Fucking Nazis?!

Like, swastika-wearing,

Hitler-loving, gun-toting,



I shake my head

and search desperately for some

combination of words that might

make this world a little better,

that might be reassuring or, at least,

not too distressing.

I look for words that might be

educational somehow,

might make someone see something

they hadn’t seen before,

but nothing really comes to me.


I haven’t believed in Hell

for a decade, maybe even two.

Such a silly thing, it seems,

to believe an omnipotent and

all-powerful God

could be so vengeful, so vindictive

or a fallen angel could be so cruel.

But as I take time to write about Nazis

and white supremacist douchebags,

I start thinking

maybe Hell does exist

and perhaps it’s cyclical.


Perhaps Hell isn’t a place,

but something that comes

around every once in awhile

like an eclipse,

there to blot out the sun

from time to time

with no other purpose

but to confuse the trees

and rattle all manner of being

from their stupor.


I suppose there could be value in that,

of periodically separating the wheat from the chaff,

if for no other reason than to make it clear

which is which before allowing them to mix again.

But what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Written by

An Appalachian writer with a penchant for depressing Russian lit. Multipotentialite. Maladaptive Daydreamer. Novel:

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