A pixie dances on plains
Through barnyards on strings
Of shimmering rain
Dust they call it
Bur it's more akin
To precipitation as it douses your skin
That Imp has called out my name
But "On, captive!" beats the vessels in my veins
"Here, you're not safe!
You're caught in a cage!
Bound, gagged, and soon stuffed and displayed!"
Legs splayed and arms raised as I fought for days.
My imagination apparently had run away
All hope was lost and logically so
The dust was not rain but a mountain of snow
I was caged in a trap and here I'll remain
A mad climber of peaks that then fell to his grave
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Short Story / Non-Fiction
Short Story / Other
Poem / Romance
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