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Ten February Nineteen Forty Two

A Requiem

By Conrad IlesiaPublished about a year ago 1 min read

Ten February nineteen forty two,

the snow looked at me askew

from a ditch in Russia

(or was it askance)

Dusk is falling with my hopes of survival.

Artillery fire from St Petersburg crackles.

White smoke rises above the neutral tree line.

Hitler, in his bunker, contemplates suicide.

Cries of command

Cries of god damn

My virginity is intact yet

Did you see the sun set

When will my pants seam crease?

When will we cease to stand?

How grievous, I thought, is the peace

and the tranquility of this land.

sad poetry

About the Creator

Conrad Ilesia

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    CIWritten by Conrad Ilesia

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