The God of my People treads a purposeful path
through a parched expanse.

Though We cling to a pebble his Toe set to spinning Our tale,

Though the dust of his heel coalesces into fire all around Us,

Though We shudder beneath the shadow of His Eternal Sole,

His pace is kept alone.
His path is not Our path.
His footfalls are a thunderous silence in Our darkness.
His progress will one day carry Him out of sight.

We were not meant to leave existence in Our wake;
Were we meant to be left existing in His?