Saturday, May 22, 2010


 Photo by Ronald W. Tipton, 2005

A stroll after the rain of a humid day,
On this path I toddled since naissance.
I knew it well.

It curved and twisted throughout my mind.
And in the heat a mist began to dance.
It had a smell

Moist and pungent. Primordial this perfume.
Miasma shallow, pretending romance.
I knew it well.

Just an ambiance of earthly delight,
An enticing wisp come to entrance,
Like Pavlov’s bell.

It would reward my imagination
If I traveled after its promised chance.
I knew it well.

But a vapor is never grasped and held.
Now a murkiness started its advance,
It began to swell.

I know this twisted path so picturesque.
I won’t get lost but for a moment glance.
I know it well.

But my path of good intent is but smog
And this pleasurable road the entrance
Straight down to Hell.
I know this well. 

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