Why, oh who, searches for miracles?
Many things are true, but cast aside as though they were fake.
Many things are made, but for what real purpose?
Many smiles, and tears seen from here to there.
Many children running everywhere.
New lives come about every day.
A new cry from babies that just began their journey.
So many things are ignored.
So many things that are pure.
So many wishing wells drowned with hope.
Why, oh who searches for miracles?
Why not look around you?
Soaking in the rain that falls from the visible sky.
The slap of the wind that carries the heavy load of washed memories.
Every shot of light, and every pierce of the dark.
Or the moon that guards you at night.
Possessing the dreamed power of flying by everyone standing on the ground, gaping at the birds.
Standing by your two feet, you have control over your life.
Being able to speak with loving-kindness.
Seeing eye to eye with whom you love.
Hearing the voices of those around you.
Touching the near by things with curiosity.
Calling out for the one ahead of you.
Sitting side by side under the shadows of the trees.
The warm hug of the ones you love.
The cute smiles of your siblings.
Wishing the impossible.
Believing what was told, what was spoke of, and what was seen.
Closing your eyes from the drift of the melody at night.
Recalling the memories of the past.
To me every pixel, cell, molecule is a miracle.
The cold that makes you squeeze in your mother's arms.
The hot days that fill the rims of your mouth with ice cream.
The pound of the heart that melts your body.
The pain that you feel when you say goodbye.