The Wasteland

A cruel atomic sun
blasts the cloudless blue air
until it radiates with blistering humidity.
Its fiery energy flashes down
on scorched earth that
shimmers with heat vapour,
and hazes like a mirage
before our very eyes.
These barren dead lands are valueless.
An empty expanse of yellow and brown
spreading out in endless monotony
as far as we can see.
In every direction.
In ephemeral undulations
constantly reformed.
An ever changing landscape of
shingle and shifting sand.
Blown by hot winds.
Tossed by perpetual tides.
Incessantly
made and undone.
Raising and lowering,
covering and uncovering,
sculpting and demolishing,
in a slow denudation of particles
that scratch at the parched surface
remorselessly.
This place is
damaged and
fragmented like
half forgotten
memories
stirred up from the shadows
in those secret places
where the sun will not reach.