Desolation

I live upon a once pure land whence from beyond the atmosphere where no life exists, it transforms, drawing a picture of landscapes etched in minuscule detail breathtakingly beautiful. Upon the land, nothing so grand, tread upon and bled devastation and waste abound, an atmosphere struggling, loosing, greed inflicts huge wounds scarring the landscape, war contributes, pollution lays to waste, rendering useless. I live on a land no longer pure, from under the atmosphere where life exists, it is transformed, drawing a picture of landscapes, etched in vivid detail, describing man's betrayal. Our past demands retribution, frailty more evident each passing day, a land full of poverty and hate, the past, heavily laden in ecological disgrace, unable to bear weight, a land in motion, its people stagnant. I live on a land no longer pure, unable to rebound, constant ignorance driven by basic or preconceived need, the future forecast desolation, I pray, I am mistaken.