The pursuit

When stevensons rocket first took the rails, the trails it would blaze where unchartered

When Paul faced Nero to declare the Lord’s name, who new how many more would be martyred.

When the first cable carried alexanders dreams from his mind to the recieving ear, who knew how many lies would grace the airwaves, why are we still shocked when our words tear asunder those we love, when once spoken they actually hear?

Why then all the more, do we seek to patch and repair, with empty gestures for cotton thread, and hollow words to bring to bear?

Consequences of ones actions, often not well thought, through or with, or out. Maybe if we did, we would seldom speak that which we nearly spout.

For though his timing is perfect, our patience is not, and so we charge on through. For at that speed all else seems to crumble, but who is truely sinking is actually you.

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