If you can see up to the stars,
Look past that and into the heavenly room.
Into the vastness of darkness and gloom,
See all the collections of the glass jars.

Each one resting in a particular place,
Every one a color with unimaginable tones.
Here lie the remnants of humanity’s bones,
All of them sitting in their individual space.

Look at one shelf and eye the glittering orbs,
Each sphere made of finer material than the last.
The human soul can be as fragile as glass
And many cracks and splinters are ruining the horde.

Delicate as china, fine as bone, these human souls must stand alone.
The abuse and harm of mortal life
Cause devastating grief and lethal strife.
Each jar has every harm and hurt shown.

The orbs reflect on their deepest core.
Showing who they want to be, but who they really are.
Many orbs have smashed, others are scarred,
But all are destined to one day hit the floor.

There is no guard to this honest place,
Except one who wears a mask and has no voice.
A glassmaker by trade and a destroyer by choice,
This angel of darkness who shows all that they have faced.

If you can see up to the stars,
Look past that and into the heavenly room.
Into the vastness of darkness and gloom,
See all the collections of the glass jars.