miracles come not by any act of force
but you do have to mean it for it to happen
the cares of my life drift like tiny boats on the water
i have no right to feel the pain anymore
time is a third person future perfect, and no one and never
there is no one to surrender to, tired of fighting
the good fight can wait for a day or two
been too busy with the washing of the dishes
the Wheel it turns and we face the same day again and again
the utter transcendence underlying everything whispers
but the revving of the rush hour engines drowns it out
how can we possibly want more? and yet we do
that desire is the cause of being unsatisfied
we have always known this brute notion
it is too much work to make everything effortless
still, i find i am warm in my bed at night
i have not seen it all, even at my most jaded
maybe just to gently tap everything with a stick
for i know i am blind when i complain
and miracles come not by any act of force
