I’ve felt the psychedelic sunrise.
Where purple and orange polka dots outline a magnificent mixture of spectrified colors.
In a circle of warmth, that is growing and growing.
Between the madness, the mind-altering flavors, and suicide . . .
It is certain that I’m lost in time.
From red, thorny, and ferocious Tinkerbell fairies . . .
To beautiful, harmless, and caring gumdrop angels . . .
I’ve encountered a variety of characters in my search for the beginning, of the end.
Some are scary, and some are beautiful, while at the same time, attractive . . .
But they tend to stop the time, so where am I?
Infinite doorways and uncertain passageways . . . .
Have lead me into rooms where water and fire become one.
Where magic shows and watermelon parades will slingshot you a thousand years times ten into eternity . . .
And still, even after another five jillion light-seconds . . .
I’m lost in time.
My trousers have touched the waters . . . .
Where black tides leave their sadistic mark, and kill the creatures . . .
Where the mightiest dolphins are even consumed by fear . . .
And where all hope is lost.
This is where, I’m lost in time.
Maybe the banana boats will find me?
Or a butterfly bird might see me searching?
If not, I will linger on . . .
Through infinite doorways and passageways . . .
Where the psychedelic sunrise meets the mind-altering flavors . . .
And where the madness, causes suicide.
I think I’m meant for this . . .
I think that I’m meant to be, lost in time.
Robert Alexander Deason Peace
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