The Miracles Of Witness - Poem by Mary Wismer
Midnight miracles make quiet mornings.
Even God sleeps peaceful on the breast.
Restless nights result in dreamy dawning’s,
Revelations ripe for sunlit rest.
The wonder must be equal to the task,
more consumed by passion than desire.
A truth must be a stone that breaks the heart,
Shattering alike our faith and art.
Years of love lay drowsy, slug-a-bed.
Choices seem to snuggle, sleeping in.
Holiness is happiness instead,
Meaning has no meaning without love,
Elevating sentience to desire.
Reason has no reason to approve
Revelation unconstrained by fire.
Rich in all that gathers grace within.
In love of God or man, the Earth must turn.
Songs of angels come in troubled times.
The miracle of witness one must earn,
moving to transfigure one's own crimes.
As faith and love require restful sleep,
so, too, must they their midnight vigils keep.
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