Mark Andrew Holmes

The sea of magenta lilies spreads forth among the reeds—

A pallid orange sun glares down, sickly, from an overcast sky

Filling the world.

A slight listless breeze stirs the vegetation.

The air is hot and crisp, like a sauna...

A comet, dark reddish-orange, streaks through the clouds

And disintegrates into sparks in midair,

With hideous ruin and combustion,

And a noise like a titanic thunderclap

That blows all into instant oblivion—

An awful shower of stars—

Then a void, as if nothing had ever been.

Copyright 2002 by Mark Andrew Holmes.

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