Chromesthesia

Progressive rock:

Silver ascension of the electric guitar

Through gloomy depths of the synthesiser.

Visions rise behind my eyes -

The threads of music

Twisted by my subconscious;

The tapestry unfolding

Shot with subtle and metallic hues,

Charting the shores of the mind.

But Floyd is not pink.

The river of colours flows inexorably

To a roiling sea

Full of serpents and strange fish.

Above - a pale light

Breaks through the storm-clouds,

The soul wails, reaching for redemption.

Cymbals crash, splintering on the obsidian beach,

And the song reaches a climax -

Neurons tangling

Through my visual cortex,

The arrow of my thought

Refracting into rainbows

And projecting on the dark sides of my eyes.