Sindauviel

                         Deeper Poetry: too many restricting rules. To string words coherently is my desire, A mass of confusion, glist'ning like jewels, Jumbled together in a raging fire, Spiraling upwards just to meet no end, Scratching and scribbling, my pen is flying. No control, ev'rywhere ne'er to descend,        No bound'ries. Color, shapes, never dying.        Thoughts bursting out with every twist and turn,        Taking a slice of my mind to display        A maze. Confusing, dead ends that I spurn,        Non-continuous thoughts, what does it say?        Darkness, depths of my mind. I, the keeper        Try to