Living in paper towers
On a desk that doesnt think
Watching written speech get bolder.

They mean more when in a letter
The pens engravement causes shadows
As the suns rays blaze and bathe her.

My book of room will follow
Eventually I’ll run to heaven
I close my eyes a longer blink
My glowing lids a smiling craven.

The imaginations like a feather
floating over pictures
piled high in towered treasures.