Simulacra

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Dark in the west the sunset's somber wrack
  Unrolled vast walls the rams of war had split,
  Along whose battlements the battle lit
  Tempestuous beacons; and, with gates hurled back,
  A mighty city, red with ruin and sack,
  Through burning breaches, crumbling bit by bit,
  Showed where the God of Slaughter seemed to sit
  With conflagration glaring at each crack.
  Who knows? perhaps as sleep unto us makes
  Our dreams as real as our waking seems
  With recollections time can not destroy,
  So in the mind of Nature now awakes
  Haply some wilder memory, and she dreams
  The stormy story of the fall of Troy.

© Madison Julius Cawein