Her voice is on the breeze
on the Eve of resurrection
Siren calling love back into life.
She is my devotion.
glowing in the darkness
as she echoes through the spaces in my mind.
She is my tiny dancer…
I yield
and let her dance me…
moving with the rhythm of her tides.
She is swelling, She is pulsing…
igniting dormant wisdom…
Rekindling the truth I left behind.
She’s the Eve of resurrection…
The serpent moves in cycles.
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 