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
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