I am the last man on earth.
Yet the streets aren’t empty
The wind does not whisper,
Unblocked by bodies to press against it.
No, the streets are still full
And cars still rush by,
But I am the last man on earth-
For the creatures beside me aren’t men at all
Everything looks normal-
No one would guess
That I am the last descendant
Of an almost extinct race.
But the lights streaming from open windows
Aren’t revealing objects to fellow humans
They’re exposing the truth that I should’ve known before
I am the last man on earth.
Poetry
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The repetition is a potent ingredient– this poem demonstrates how repetition does not have to be cheesy or overused.
Good job!
Michelle R.
Thank you very much!