Where Do Miracles Hide?

Mary points the way.
Knock on the door once close
Enfolded with the chain of doom
Only the right key can open.

The luxury of time ain’t here to play
Drugged by the pills on a daily dose
Lie in the bed of a white room
where justice is served often.

Word of mouth is following the ray.
Knees bend begging for a loose
Tears fall asking for a wonder to loom
Summoning the Saints for the plea to co-pen.

Where do miracles hide?
Nothingness suddenly appears to preside.
Are miracles a holy grail that is hard to find?
Or was it a product of an imaginative mind?

God is Far

Idiocy.
Poisoning the well when the answer is there.
Sipping tea while you are praising Lucifer.
Dancing with the aces illuminates when you go down under.

Blind.
You only see the darkness in style.
You, feeling triumphant with your catatonic smile.
You, a feral child living in the abandon isle.

Mute.
There’s nothing left to say to the unused gift of gab.
Here lies, the lies growing in mob.
Their lips being padlocked not to speak for the truth while being stabbed.

Deaf.
Do you hear what I see?
Do you need to listen in supremacy?
Do you find whispers in silence an intimacy?

Numb.
Nullified with shallow sublimity overshadowed by the dark.
Qualified Lannister ain’t born Stark,
Stratified aura could not see the bottom of the ocean through the murk.

User.
Like morphine hiding in secrets.
Like addiction not afraid of the threats.
Like psycho showing no sign of regrets.

Devil.
Living like lovely angels in hell.
Turning enigmatic coming out from the shell.
Deflowering innocence in shiny pennies worth for the soul they sell.

Believer.
Let’s dim the light of the falling star.
How do they even think that God is far?
Who do they think they are, when God is far?