Pink Mist

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    Pink Mist

    Shock-waves permeate space, time,
    rippling through life's delicate essence --

    as if it were

    ...nothing.

    A dense haze of pink mist
    hangs in stagnant air ~



    its stench, not yet reaching heaven.

    Proud, brave men



    -- assured by their own arrogance --



    attempted to contain a power

    stronger than themselves.

    ...Now, not a single ash
    remains of their existence...



    For foolish is he
    who is careless, but a moment.



    © Tim Sutherland, All rights reserved

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    acjtb commented on Pink Mist

    03-10-2009

    amazing man i love it

    Phatom commented on Pink Mist

    03-10-2009

    True, just one rash act can be so catastrophic.

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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