The distant futures are under our heels.
The twirling spike picks at our sutures.
Round in infinity, helpless for the cause,
the desk of inability handed down,
Becomes historic.

The righteous path is a narrow train-
acommodation and timely travel.
Chipping gravel at a charitable cause,
a throng of praise, electrification,
humming the tracks.

Uncomprehensible, dodging our gaze
of scientific mind indefensible.
Richness burns the light on our heels,
dropping to tap in sync with my prayer-

The distant futures are under our heels.
Tesla’s tap’s crumbling our measures.
Drawing points on infinity, defining our time
to praise on trains on tracks,
“Glory to the Most High”