It’s not a remarkable rarity,
Not a ruby reflecting the rays
Of the sun, indeed, serendipity
Is like salt in the Monterey Bay.

It’s the dollar you find in your pocket,
It’s the hummingbird visiting home—
The song you would keep in a locket
If you could, for it plays like a poem.

You needn’t be lucky to find it,
It is not a matter of chance.
Open your eyes, be unblinded
And you’ll see it in every glance.

The moon, the stars, the heavens on high
Are not hidden—simply look up to the sky.

When miracles were given away,
It's found that there weren't them for me.
Maybe they didn't put down me in list
Or I forgot to join a queue, you see?

Maybe I got on a shift turnover.
Wizardry's also a job, hearsay,
With lunches, holidays and days off surely.
There're no fools to work the whole days.

Well, I guess I'll have to wait.
I'm a human. I know what's what.
I'll scroop by myself. I'll be patient.
I'll do my best. I hope I would.

The resurrected dead rouses not the dead
In sunshine candles open not any eyes
But a whispery hush suffices for the living
And the sighted sees in the darkest depths

Miracles are not for the dead but the living
Jezebel vowed to ****, and Israel yet idolatrous
Parables, crafted tales, to mislead and hide
But turns to wine quenching mourning spirits

Millions are hidden and unknown, oppressed
By chance, without knowledge or intent, one,
by the wicked, blessed, but by miracle, Israel
remains unblessed, untouched by wickedness

I want to enjoy us
As long as it lasts
To dive deeper into you
With every breath

I want us to remember
That we're not endless, love
Is in every moment here
Whenever we are present

Will you really embark
On this journey with me?
It may sometimes get dark
Too dark for us to see...

With a broken heart life seems heavy, I know
But your soul's still alive,
And sure, we can mend the wounded parts,
Together we have two strong hearts.

May we remember
To surrender for as long
As it lasts,
I speak to you of trust,
Through guilt, shame, pressure, fears and doubts,
I hope you hear this quiet voice
Sometimes my tears and admiration
Show you my very deep sensation...

I am on the path of self-reconnection
Of deepening my own relation,
I have come out of the stagnation
I love in waves and move in states of
Self-reconciliation.

Share more with me!
I love your soft kind voice,
I love your being,
It is full of joy!
Is love coincidence
Or is't a conscious choice?

I can imagine everything as new,
And brace for miracles with you.

Possessed with the urge to do;
Can't settle until things ensue.
Reminding myself of the past; all shall be fine,
You can play, you have time!
Life ebbs and flows,
release the shakes, and go,
Wade in the waters,
Go where there are no borders.
Grieve,
And believe.

Raindrops kiss the earth,
he sits beneath the grey sky—
eyes still on the stars.

Clouds hide every light,
but he whispers to the dark,
“Maybe one will fall.”

Storms can’t shake his faith—
even meteors seem far,
but he waits, and waits.

The world says, “Give up.”
He only tightens his grip—
hope like fire inside.

Rain or stars above,
he believes in miracles—
even if they burn.


Erennwrites

I beg you teach me how to laugh alive.
It seems as if I've tightly forgotten.
But, please, only no sadness for the past.
All that I had before, is left out and rotten.

I beg you teach me to believe in miracles.
It seems as if I've wholly got stale.
But, please, only no fairy-tales and quodlibets.
You make them up so poorly and fail.

I beg you teach me not to cry by no means.
My tantrums are being not much help at all.
Yes, I'm a girl, and we're not forbidden.
But it's in vain. I've checked it all in whole.

I beg you teach me how to get old steadily.
I realize that it's about my time.
I promise not to argue or resist noway.
My life was generous to me just anytime.

If this's the case, I will continue moving.
My feet will lisp along the ground bit by bit.
And when I have no force at all to trudge behind,
I'll simply sit under the pine and hug my knees.

They’d fallen in love
as some young people do—
so that lust might rationally increase.

Their bright, valentine-red-blood fairly beat for love.

It’s good that we can name a thing—
describe it and classify it, so it’s out there,
fact-like, in the flimsy, indefinite poetry-verse

It was a day for it, as the sun, that most followed star,
was a carnotite paintball-splotch against a sky stitched of turquoise
and the quality of the light was sentimentally beyond reproach.

Their gallant love seemed to cast a radiance too, a bright, collateral light, which was of greater reassurance than any by-rote, muttered words.

No one denied the ambition of their love, it was both a mess and a revelation. And no one could pretend the moment was ordinary, that the atoms that spun and gripped our world together weren’t woven yet more inseparable by their union.

The greatest, alas, may choose to bless or deny that such a miracle as love, lasts.
.
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Songs for this:
Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers
You Can Have It All by Yo La Tengo