While the Coma Paused Semi Senile Centile

The cave bears the print of the fingers it bereaved

And the bear bites the nail dug in his back he picked

The stars seep into the river every night

They have a chance of seeing the blitz

And chance flees at second’s charm

All is while if the wolf doesn’t rhyme the chimes


The seated cite cigarettes sighted and sought

The felon of the beat is a beast

He floats but stings and withers but flees

I grudge the ghost to gear the goods

I steed the feast to hear the host

When the time’s out, all the spades troll


The letters are unwritten; they solve the riddle

The blanks deliver a dream to each one his mean

The spaces turn fake and the faded becomes a fad

All the rythm halts where the music seeks salt

There the highs are tide and low are the ride

And the mead is a seed to believe and heed


© Prateek Joshi and WordPress, 2017

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