You are the Only Exception (Waiting on Miracles)

hands fumbling over one another,
straining to touch
even the smallest inch of a miracle.

knecks craned;
eyes straining
to catch just
a moments worth of proof
that miracles exist.

in a time when the average person is forced to struggle,
it’s hard to think that there’s such a thing on Earth to believe in.

when your best doesn’t matter much when it boils down to what’s supposed to be important…

what’s the point in believing?

voices sliding over one another,
rising up, traveling through the wind
–calling out,
in hope miracles have ears.

the sound of hurried footsteps,
legs sprinting,
leaping,
searching for the spot
a miracle stands.

it used to be that miracles walked among the sons of man;
that the tiniest touch
could make a person whole.

it’s been a long time since then.
miracles no longer walk in the open,
and now it seems as if
it takes more than
the touch of a finger
to lift the burdens of the world.

hands fumbled,
kneck craned, eyes strained;
a voice spoke out,
and the sound
of unhurried footsteps
broke
the tense silences in the air.

you lifted me up
and strung my arms
around your kneck.

you held my face
against your shoulder,
and as I cried,
your fingertips
brushed away the tears;

a small, simple touch
that took away a burden.

©Marie Meyers, 2013

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