Miracles (Poem)

How do you know a miracle?

Can you sense it in the moment?

Or can you only know once you look back,

That you’ve taken a ride on the wings of an angel?

Are miracles only big fits of light?

Or can they come as the small twinkle of a flame

As the candle licks the air for the first time.

Can miracles come only from the Divine?

Or can they be crafted by the hands of man?

For only through dirt and dust, can life begin. 

When your roots are pulled and plucked from earth,

Can you still find peace in pot soil?

When the flowers of roses are snipped and lay dead,

A new Hydra head comes back in it’s place.

Through ashes and scornful fire,

New life bursts from the baptized remains.

Is life truly a miracle?

Or is it merely happenstance?

Were we truly sculpted by the trickster’s hands?

Or have the great paws of time

only mistakenly willed us into being?

When we break the surface of the cool water,

Will there be arms outstretched to bring us to our feet?

Would it be a miracle to ask 

For just one more kiss goodbye?

Or would that be too much for a big, angry God?