Sleeping beauty stirs…
It is the Eve of resurrection…
I can feel her on the breeze
calling love back into life.
She is my devotion.
She is glowing in the darkness
as she echoes through the spaces in my mind.
She is my tiny dancer…
I yield to let her dance me…
As I move and blossom with her sighs.
She is swelling, She is pulsing…
igniting dormant wisdom…
Remembering the truth I left behind.
Yes, Sleeping beauty stirs…
It is the Eve of resurrection…
On waking I will turn it all around…
No serpent caused our slumber,
No… She just moves in cycles
and, no prince will be the advent of her rise.
She is no rib-born maiden.
She’s Wild Lilith in the garden,
Sparking fire in my heart and in my eyes.
The Sound of Her Voice 