the miracle


Dear God

My window tells me that I can fly
but just like those that have lept before me
my wings are but invisible hope
dreamed in nightmares
by evil children
whose stoic faces
speak but still say nothing
of reason and love
of should have regrets
and just
in spite
of aging irrelevance
the greatest reason to live remains
as just an object stowed away
in a repair shop
on Rainier Avenue South

death as the conclusion of life
or an ellipsis…
as cessation of time
or cessation of things
is really all that matters
as the world ends
calling symbolic reference
to a sacred endurance
a bowl of cleansing water
made of holy wood
old people and
old clothes
worn souls retreated into silence
they love the church
great halls of fearful wondrous grace
on lonely pews of worn patience
and flickered hope
flawless pageantry
believes the love of promise
these private tears
this Holy presence
the Knowledge of Love
and of Evil
of good
and of hatred
dark spiritual forces
from beneath the cross
beyond the veil
of just who we are
in that secret room
after the last judgement
of rigorous Holiness
as we listened to Silence
in upper rooms

abashed by your
omnipotent impotence
right now
make me a miracle
right now
right now
and then
I do believe
and then
I do believe


One thought on “the miracle

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