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WanderingMonster

The Birth of Solarpunk (or, the death of steampunk)

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The city’s all gone now,
Shattered into sharpened points of glass,
Warped pieces of rusted iron,
And scattered metal screws. 
Burnt-out bulbs lie on the concrete,
Empty of glow or even their memories,
And I can’t help but shed a tear
For all the years I’ve lost here in the tangle,
Of tumbled monuments and 
Long forgotten airships that will never fly again. 
I remember the past and the apocalypse,
The burning sky and the screeching gears,
The fear we’d never make it out alive,
But now everything’s silent.


So I climb the crumbled towers 
And look out at the lost city. 
I breathe in the clean air, gaze up at the birds.
They whirl above the wreckage
And it no longer smokes; it’s green. 
Vines curl around the junk piles 
And flowers bow over the bent steel beams, 
Grass waves in the cracked cobblestone streets. 
The wind blows through the beech trees 
That grew from the ruin,
And it’s beautiful. 
There is hope in the broken emptiness
And sunlight shines down on the remains of a world 
That fell apart once but has been reborn.
 

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constantly confused

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