Through Pink Floyd's Prism,
I hit the wall,
spattered into red, yellow
indigo, and other aspects of light.

Bent and twisted
through crystal diodes,
that power pulses
in the mind.

The beat kicks in
pounding my senses,
as I float, distant
sailing on the spectrum sea.

The bricks surround me
walling me in,
I am alone,
but I wonder
am I really?

Are others out there,
I long to ask my mother?
Perhaps they hide
in the darkness out in space.

The other side of the moon
promotes silvered questions,
that float like a balloon
into the eclipsed night.

Am I really here
flesh and blood
or am I just a thought
blowing in the solar wind.