Journal of a Spaced-Out Brain

Sometimes

Sometimes,
A little static makes some sense,
Turns one's life into a mind worm,
That eats away one's matter and soul.

Sometimes,
A brain's synapses can fire intensely,
And when they do--most freak out!
And beg God for an answer,
That will liberate truth from lies,
Willingly told to others lost,
And looking down as if homeless,
To see the object of our destruction,
The responsibility for our death.

Sometimes,
Waterfalls reflect crystal fire,
Like turning one's sorrow into laughter,
Noticed only after we grow old.