Sound OutAngel, listen; Dove-cry heralds of a complexity laced in a simplicity. How you swooned at the height of your Tower! Though pining within prism-cell peaks of ponderous pace, Your wonder and curious pull shows upon your face.Sound Out
Lady, heed; No nuturing nature, nor grace of god would weigh you, Upon the 'faults' of your form or the 'fragility' of your shell. Nay, you are the silent recollection; butterfly cocooned. Volumes declared upon whisps of wind on the tips of your lips.
Eyes, behold! You stand in resolution of the greatest, ink-stained hue! You are hushed,
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"That is because the English language is my BITCH, and I bend it to my wishes accordingly..." -T
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