We're all waiting for miracles

There's a world so different,
From the one we occupy.
A world made beautiful by dreams
Of perpetual optimism and joy.
In the great depths of thought,
We keep imploring for serendipity.
After all, we're all just waiting
And hoping for miracles... aren't we?

At times in our heart of hearts,
Lies the truth of the circumstance.
And yet a corner of that very heart
Houses the belief of a happy chance.
Hidden beneath the exhaustion from continuous trying,
Lies a glimmer of sanguinity.
For we're all waiting
And hoping for miracles... aren't we?

There may not exist such a world,
Many of us do realise.
Yet how we dream of being there,
Every time we close our eyes.
There's a longing common to every heart;
Of peace and respite from melancholy.
Because in the end we're always waiting
And hoping for miracles... aren't we?