There are still places
where the colors run dry;
and the hidden oasis
stands clear in the mind.
When saints robed in orange
chant to a mountainous beat.
While the laughing addicted
dance in circles sublime.

Neon flower blossoms bloom,
continuing delusions
ride the chemical boon.
The secrets of existence
seem at a moment within reach,
echoes of a forgotten song.
But all continues, echoes fade
to another place and time.

08/10/2003

Posted on 08/11/2003
Copyright © 2025 Brian Francis