The Miracle

The people of my generation

Sounds look like choked

So they crossed alone and forgotten

In the middle of the desert

The time zones

Bloody, innocent lambs

In the roar of sacrifice

With the marks on the stones

From bodies tormented, hot and alive

Bodies pierced

The new wind divorced the defenseless hands

Our watchful eyes with screaming suffering

In the miracle

A bunch of bees, totals

Of our test

The power of our faith and liberty