a course in miracles

"serve me one course
in miracles,
tell me one story
of a life you've touched
and changed,
and I'll make you a saint,
I'll embellish your name,
I'll anoint you with a halo
you can call your own,"
said a man,
brandishing a light
before the eyes
looking up to him,
a light they cannot see,
for they are blind

eyes that haven't smelled
the warmth of a darkness
where fireflies glow and vanish
with their half-burnt smiles,
where crickets beat their drums
for silence dancing in the shadows,
where the moon reveals herself
like an awakened prostitute,
to curious explorers of the night,
where a whistling thrush
chooses to hold her song
until the crack of a well-timed dawn,
where a billion stars take their place
on a dark-lit stage,
playing their roles to perfection,
night after night,
where Life serves miracles
in her horn of plenty,
as I struggle to digest those,
and yet extol
just one course
in unfounded miracles,
one miracle that I choose,
to think that
I
can outshine Life.