Please help me with this; I would like it to be critiqued. I am in the process of editting it, but I am currently fatigued as a result of what this piece means to me.
Do not worry, I am not actually suicidal -- this poem means to vent the frustration constructively, to avoid such an outcome from seeming attractive to me.
As I sat on a sofa in the cool, dark expanse of the club house and watched the previews and the eventual launch of the space shuttle that bore the Sojourner to Mars, I could not help but think about our own earth. Other Youth Corps members around me in the club house of the Corpers' Lodge at Saipem Camp could never imagine my thoughts, but I saw the pictures of Mars: the pictures of a dead but once vibrant planet. Was it possible that our world was also dying and would one day lie as red and bleak as the dead Mars?
