I make الصلاة to the NorthStar,
  towards Aurora; 
Towards the purest form 
  of me I'm informed of. 
In the Matchless' palace, 
 my chalice is Borealis,
Overflowing with 
 atmosphere and stardust. 

I make الصلاة to the Concealed One, 
  beyond Galaxy HD1, 
towards the Revealed Son,
  that makes the winter sun feil*; 
Towards the appealing, 
   ultraviolet, 
   yet surreal, 
   an Oasis 
fulfilling Orion's prophecy 
 and Ursa Major's disillusion.

The uncapitalizing catholic, 
but holds the Capitol 
on His back, 
all will kneel
 but doesn't deal
  in feudal institution. 

I make الصلاة to the King 
whose throne is equality,
Where the Chief Prophet 
teaches His apostles to walk
  across astrology, 

Towards my Brother's Kin-dom
   where the doxology 
   is Galatians 3 democracy, 
No distinguishing 
   or dishonoring,
and the rule is 'follow Me'. 

'Love God, 
Love neighbor as-is',
The golden classic 
consoling masses, 
doling jabs with 
colonial f//cists, 
Extragalactic,
   because Milky Way is
      a neutered philosophy. 

As in Heaven, shall it be, 
on Earth, 
I make الصلاة 
to protest and mirth. 

In the name of Jesus, 
asserted.

* Scottish; neat and cozy : comfortable