Stacking ever higher and purposeful,
looking for the way to grown,
relentlessly building, endlessly vertical,
Shoulders shrug where Atlas shone.
Pile more bricks upon bricks upon bricks,
scrape further toward the taunting sky.
Only push further through the trees and sticks.
No wishes to float, no wishes to fly,
Straining, stern and yearning pain,
up and onward, again and again,
flogging gravity, fighting force
momentums sister, a matter of course.
Grab the sun and the suns own stars
with burnt hands with endless scars,
Strain to tower, loom and peak,
forward motion, a vertical streak.
A wish to be atop a cloud,
an urge to be where not allowed.
The secret of the tower is love and a golden key.
The secret of the tower above,
is that the tower is me.