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We make our way through life, armed with light and dark, choices and contradictions,
Ever questioning, laughing, killing, saving, breathing, thinking, feeling,
Mocking the great Uncertainty, and whimpering as we fade into the night.

Living, dying,
  hoping, crying.

We are unrepentant:
Ever striving and slacking, loving and hating, praying and damning as we march forward.
Forgiving, and moving on; failing, yet able to be proud as we walk with heads held high.
Searching for an end to the madness, yet reveling in its brilliant intensity.

Living, dying,
  hoping, crying.

Wingless, he flutters through the gentle meanderings of a thought on the wind.
Formless, he shakes the foundations of this Earth with but a tremble from his lips,
         Before coming to rest on some high starry precipice.

He is not God: just a human perception, a contraction of infinites
         Forced into roles we would have him play,
         Like Stern Patriarch, and Sanctioner of Wars, and Eternal Punisher.
         Humans trying to define something both in and beyond their existence,
         Recruiting the divine to meet a mortal agenda.

He is omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent, as they are quick to tell you.
But for all that, he is still listening and learning and loving, the same as us.
Smiling beneficently as he is doubtless watching;
Watching, enthralled, at our
                  living,
                       dying,
                              hoping,

                                    and   

                                        Rising.