A poem about Oceania, written from O'Brien's perspective.
Airstrip One, an all-encompassing jig:
No one could ever grasp its shear mighty
Stature—doubleplusgood, yet so dainty:
This City, riddled with rats, always sick
From the scars of shells; monochromatic,
ministry of true, pax, luv, and plenty,
Divides the horizon dutifully;
Like the dreams of an Ingsoc romantic.
Fog obscures the bleak city like before—
creates a blend of past, present, future;
For I feel fullwise shaken to my core!
The tides crash wildly against the cruiser:
Oceania shall be evermore
The machine whose name strikes love and tremor!