Sky-Scraper

We all hold our worlds in a whisper For we don’t know what forms they’ll take: A single snow-globe, that’s cast in storm ‘Could’ scrape the skies with ache, An’ the twisted, fabrics of a heaven -longed ‘Could’ billow an’ spill forth to unfold (Across the very, wax wounded mantle That once kept that heaven cold) Entombed, our hearts -in a whisper COULD scream through demons at will But still, we hold -our worlds in whisper An’ still, our mouths are still For we all hold our worlds in a whisper And we don’t know what forms they’ll take But until its spoken, an' not through a whisper For our worlds -we will be too late