When trapped outside

This is my Dent

There are a lot of things
to think about, to write or sing about
There are rules to writing
a poem or a story
but oftentimes I get lost
among all the cacophony
Fairies and prairies sound magical together
I throw them in the air
over my head, without any care
Rhymes and times I’d like to consider
but they all come out jagged,
fractured and rough
like a broken mirror
or a torn piece of paper
A collection of words in a connection
forming a most peculiar pattern
No, there’s no intention of any
But there always emerges
an image, a sound,
a priceless piece of symphony
that the eyes delight in touching
and the ears excite in tasting

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