Gravel lines the sounds, the call
of help marred by vitriol and distance.
Propped up by wooden pikes, disease
runs its course until it lands in
fields of quandary, finally obliterated
by epiphany and knowledge.

Methodologically sound and similar,
results speak for themselves, though
do these ends justify the mean means?
Should thoughts of godhood be punished
despite the rewards? The benefits
for letting this train barrel onward?

Who dares make such a call, when
even a singular benefit is of the
greatest outcome, for the needs of
the many are bolstered by this
potential, this option that would
bring them bereft of hope,
should it die.