Take One Every Four Hours

All the corners of my psyche are feathered and frayed
with colors still hidden or unknown to man,
creating quite a motley splendid wonder,
and then like a peacock’s techni-colored fan
breaths in whirl-winds to chase the inky silk draped darkness
that looters like shadows at folded edges,
replacing it with bright Crayola dances,
and pearl colored wings like overgrown hedges.

Now scattering thin threads far is the painted sunrise,
that shines down in splendors and in golden hues
feeding life to my innermost daffodils,
and violets drawn in sugary plums and blues.
My flowers grow up in their own oasis of light,
where big grinning blossoms chase the darkness away,
for my coarse blackness is shattered by laughter,
and I’m shielded by sunshine’s twinkling fray.

And the music as well, escorts the blackness away,
so that it doesn’t brown and dull the borders,
and the dancing lines of music collide in
nimble chaotic fantasia disorders.
The drumlins humming with a symphony of colors,
like a rainbow  lined up in flame, jade and pink.
Hiding behind the azure flutes of water
the darkness sucks them in, thrusting for a drink.

Now these colors are fading to pale shade of yellow,
and the black is consuming like starving beasts.
Like webs collecting and killing the colors,
the flowers guzzled in slimily ridden feasts.
My music has turned lower and then paler, then gone,
and the darkness dries out my once lush retreat,
quickly I down an acid flavored capsule,
and gaze as my mind’s eyes again becomes sweet.