When does sainthood become the foundation from which our inhumane feet trudge upon?
Surely there is not always a didactic harpist playing for no cost, strictly in your name.
But do know, you are being saved this moment.
Hear the subtle shift of the ivory clock, intertwining peace threads
at the ignominious heart.
Observe the dynamic tones varying with each clunk and move
from block to block.
Your image radiates off a more magnificent king,
one who does not instruct you to pave golden stones before you.
Realize the irretractable treasures of heaven
rest strongly on your cross, which you must haul across the million-mile run.
