Miracles Are
the original name for everything.
Not a prize in tomorrow
But a gift, in simply being.

So funny are the ones
Who think they have a clue.
As if ideas, labels, and judgments
Could really touch the magic, of why
the stars do what they do.

Simply looking out, while
inhaling a rise of the sun;
If you cannot ‘feel’ the miracle
Then your life has yet to begun.

Whatever is felt,
as you watch this life unfold,
do you not see the gift within you
-from a seed, within it grows.

Never do you have to tell this
to a child who is allowed to be.
For everthing they see and touch
is the most miraculous mystery.

Why did you grow up,
so you could pretend to be important?
Maybe you sprouted so you could bloom
and discover within -this depth;
the miracle, of existence.