Marching

Ever onward we march, the eternal drum
thrumming its grisly beat, always, always
reminding us of mortality, of the modesty
of our contribution to the universe in the
vastness of forever. Our legs continue to
parade in time, though our minds have
long since wandered; our hearts stopped
altogether or racing ahead, leaping into
alternative lives, disdaining the directive
of the drumbeat, preferring a reality where
possibility presides, an existence beyond
the pitifully stunted message from on high.
God is everywhere, I remind myself, but
above all, yes above all, God is immanent.

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