Gallons of Gaseous Material Upon the Crest - Stream of Consciousness

Rested upon the crest,
the gas floats, sad,
betrayed, aloof.

Worry is common,
fear around,
evil afoot.

Walking beyond
the fence,
colors abound.

Plasma is generated
from the heat,
abrowned.

I notice the colors
reds and purples,
on the array.

My life it begins,
singularly immense,
today.