By Night, I Am Zhukov

Through dark nights,
Coloured by ink,
Words fall like dead
leaves from my heart.

Lines form in hours,
Counted and recounted
in forgotten time,
Witnessed all alone.

Verbs and nouns fight
amid thick smoke,
Billowing across the voice
speaking commands in verse.

Letters move in chaotic order
with each baton sway,
Marching erratic to the
definite uncertain end.

Dawn comes with silence,
Maps with fronts that
have moved on a battlefield
as on the furrowed page.

The smoke remains,
Flowing through light air,
Memories of a war that
ended unknown.

Through dark nights,
Coloured by ink,
Words fall like dead
leaves from my heart.

by night I am zhukov leningrad

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