The Truth About Miracles

The fire within me burns with impenitent vigor Yet my soul is colder than the dark depths of the frigid ocean And though the flames rise relentlessly into my throat My heart is none more lit my its violent ascent Than the most barren caverns In the most lifeless forest On the most isolated island Lost in the raging sea When will a wandering vessel Tossed off-course by the pulsing waters Happen upon my enigmatic speck of land Dropped like a splatter of brown paint From a sullen artist’s brush On a canvas of boundless blue And by kissing the shore with her bow Wash the sand of its wistful solitude Perchance she will breath spirit into the perishing woodlands And grant my heart a sliver of hope Provide my soul a moment of peace Torches ablaze, the captain and crew Will shed a soft, forgiving light on the cave’s cool stone walls As though the hands of Christ had been laid upon them They will be rid of their wretchedness And reborn into a reinvigorated celebration of naive existence Bursting with radiance, like a firecracker Exploding against a star-spattered sky Moved so completely by the wondrous merriment All voices are lifted up into song All limbs are roused to flail about in dance And all hearts are unburdened of affliction But as the sun of each passing day rolls over the horizon And reality shatters utopian fantasies The incontestable truth delivers an arrow Into the heart of my hopes Leaving me defenseless, to bleed out Waiting on a miracle