God manifests as a lowly foot soldier: A poem 

I can’t ever retreat into the 

ghost town of my soul 

I am called to take on 

too many gunbattles 

in frontier haunts. 

I must have the agility 

of rubber gloves and the 

unbendable steel of metal 

sharpened by Vulcan himself  

I, sometimes, feel I am  

in the furnace itself 

where the iron boils and is cast. 

You can see, while I do not 

absolve criminals, I am myself 

in an eternal prison. Like an aging 

sheriff, compelled to do his duty 

much beyond his fated time. 

But I won’t have it any other way 

I am like the gravity, that keeps 

the orbits of the planets  

around the sun, and the sun itself 

in its floating around the Zodiac; 

unencumbered by the distant one. 

Yes, God manifests as the lowly 

footsoldier, always prepared  

to do battle for the kings against evil men!