Where's the poem
where's its lord
The way he vaccumed
makes me think,
the poet's marooned

shrinked by the thrist
he crossed,the door to mirage
between the hibiscus' corpses,
had swallowed the disparage.
The way he mooned
makes me think,
the poet's marooned

The very kiss of time,
holistically,drowned his chime,
his magic of pen
never lumped him ten.
The way he loomed
makes me think,
the poet's marooned

Whole universe's got invitation
in the maiden cremation
where the art'll be flamed to air
for creating a sustenance.
The way he doomed
makes me think
the poet's marooned