lost treasure trove

There’s this quote, and it says
Either everything is a miracle, or nothing is

Well it’s a miracle I’m still breathing
Cause the air got knocked out of me the second I saw your face
next to someone else’s 
And hopelessness refilled its place in my lungs
Cause I can’t help but hate myself
For all the messes I create
Emotions that I don’t contain
Obsessive thoughts I can’t abate 
But cling to like handfuls of
Alchemical gold
Which is really just coal
More appropriate for burning than to make new metals

Though, let us suppose
That burning is a chemistry,
Metal has no memory,
and, with enough pressure and time,
coal turns into diamond
So maybe then my rock like mind—after years of headaches pounding hammers ring so loud I can’t sleep won’t eat only weep and OCD self fulfilling prophecies social anxiety compounded by a fear of inadequacy threaten to make a cloistered hermit out of me—

maybe,
these elements will form a kind of crystal

How crystal are such unclear things

or grow wings
And sing a song that helps some poor and weary traveller to get along 
when just it seemed all hope was gone 

Oh, how Saccharine 
How pristine
will this gemstone melody be
Like the wiles of Calypso 
Or the buried treasures of Monte Cristo