The City in the Sea by Edgar Allan Poe

Indeed, death has given
itself a place to rest
it’s head
a throne high above
from which it can
look down
below.

This strange city lying
alone
far down
down
in the dimmest parts
of the Western
world
where good is bad
and worst is best
where those
go to their
eternal
rest.

Shrines and towers
time-eaten
but without
trembling
resembling
nothing like our own
arounded surrounding
by a lifting wind
not forgotted
resignedly beneath
the dark sky
and melancholy waters
lie.

No rays from holy heaven
befall this night-time town
only the light of the lurid sea
which streams up
in turrets
silently.
Gleaming up the pinnacles
freely
up domes up spires
up kingly halles
up those great Babylonian
walls.
Up shadows long-forgotten
bowers and towers
of sculpted ivy and stone
flowers.
Up many a marvelousity
wreathed with viol
and violet and vine.
Blended turrets and shadows
pendulums hanging in air
from that tower proud
looking death
gigantic down.

There are no temptress
of the waters
no rip curls
in that sea of glass
that wilderness
where the winds swell
off in distant lands
with no hints
of meaning.

The solitary wave
moving to and fro
thrusting the tower
aside
this sinking
dull tide
a voice from the Heavens
with reddish glow
hours faint
earth moans
down that tall tower
this hell
the place of a thousand
thrones.