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 rhythm 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, 2017-2018

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