"Wasteland" A Poem by V.G. Grace

The air is bitter, 

the water is sour.

The rains fall down 

in an unnatural shower.
 

The beauty has passed 

and 

the earth has been scorched.
 

The trees are bare 

and 

goodness torched.
 

My eyes see 

the sickness and spoil;
 

diseased skies 

and 

wasted soil.
 

There are rambling days 

in fruitless existence,
 

born from rejected duty 

and 

discarded sense.
 

Our tomorrow has come 

presenting dismal sights,
 

caught in the darkness 

with no promise of light.
 

Hope fading 

and 

women weep.
 

Weary flesh slowly drifts

into eternal sleep.
 

Will there be 

absolution,

rescue,

new beginning 

to emerge?
 

Will there be 

continuing desolation, 

a wave of heartache,

which does surge?
 

Until that day, 

promise withers 

into eternal memory,
 

held onto

by one common humanity.