"Hareton Earnshaw, 1500"

I stood in the center of the burning city—well

actually, dear reader, it isn’t burning

anymore. Just 

charred, cracked, and crumbling, 

as I see it. 

 

(Are you a dear reader?)

 

In the middle

of this charred city,

the sun also sets 

red behind the rubble,

just like it did yesterday.

I hear the bells ring still.

I took a walk, and sang to myself.

It was quiet, but

I speak to myself, punily.

 

But! Hark! presiding above,

A Bill-Board,

like God,

from the Machine,

a glowing Sign,

casting light.

O, Sign, your effluvia remain! But, 

alas! only your shedded light

stands to break

the darkening

night.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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