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Riddles

Candles, rugs, ourselves
Bongos, laughing, vision
The riddle, the Bells, the yell
Ruptured, departed, the shelves
Your my illusion to get by this ugly faced culture
You are my key for the black art
I need you for my bleeding heart
Wearing only a smile, in a circle of flowers
The sorcery hour awaits us with powers
Only if you keep smiling & make particles of your dreams fall with the showers
We are in the enchanters hallucinations
We see ourselves, soon on the shelves
My candles low though I think it worked
I wonder if she got the riddle
It’s an unsound dream between right and wrong, in the middle
The shelves, the middle, the end

Other works by Mike Gredence...



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