Maybe I'm looking for a miracle
between cracks in sidewalks,
something informal
to let me know
that angels don't cry for no reason.

And right now
I've stopped believing
that miracles
can be birthed in ditches filled of sewage trash.

Miracles are for the born luckies
and not those who are born rich.
Miracles lie with closed eyes --
but they've stopped dreaming.
Miracles drown
in the waters
of the tears
of those crying angels.

They fool you,
deceive you,
and make you believe the sunset will forever exist.

But one day,
the sun will not rise
and all the flowers
will wither and die.