Remembering The Wasteland

Green and gently rolling hills.
Snowy tops of noble mountains: towers, bulwarks, symbols of boldness.
Surfaces of sparkling, crystal seas
Turquoise waters casting their whitish foam upon coasts of silver sand.
Magnificent beauty, America.

Open lands; pure, undisturbed nature of unveiled serenity
Summer, when the yielding soil is rich toward struggling plants crying for life
fairyland of magic.
Winter, when the sky is a whirling haze of gray and a wonderland of activity.
My life in you has been full.

But rolling hills ended in cities.
Lucid seas washing against glaring beaches, splashing cruelly upon rotting moss-covered supports of harbor docks.
Golden sun ejecting, shedding its brilliant bursts upon filthy gutter-washed streets.
Grime filled allies
Decaying and stained billboards.
Faded wooden doors leading into musty darkness.
Poison of lives.
Prison houses of luring lights.
Kaleidoscopes of coruscating lights beckoning passers by.
Open cries and concealed ones.

Rain, grandeur in the emerald forest, beating harshly down upon metallic monsters
scattering smoke.
Rain washing uncleanness into the storehouses of squalor.
Streets cluttered with the filth and sickness
Darkened allies of grime, waste, and garbage.

People have hated their brothers.
Where is hope?