She cradles Her priestess in a bed of downy softness,
Soothing her with breaths of gentle breezes;
Rocking her, gently, asleep in the trusted darkness of the night --
Seeming unending darkness, welcomed respite...

Then she gently rocks the cradle,
“Awaken, my child, my daughter.
“Awaken to my words, awaken and see.”
But in your deep sleep you hear only Her lullaby.

Once-gentle rains now swirl wildly,
Spattering droplets against your swaddling linen.
The sea’s magnificent tides loom high above your pillow.

Again She rocks the cradle,
“Awaken, my child, my daughter, my own.”
You sleep on, transforming the alarming chorus into dream images...

Fires rage relentlessly in the forest,
Lightning flashes and enflames the night .
Rockets of lava careen down the hillsides, racing toward you.
Sleeping, sleeping still.

She urgently rocks the cradle,
“Awaken, my child, my daughter.”
Her warning still remains but an intrusive dream.

The waves rage high above you, far above your sleeping world.
And, too, the lava rises, slipping silently past your pillow.
Flames ride the waves that race toward shore,
twisting and mixing with the brimstone.

She upends the cradle,
“Awaken, my child, my daughter.”
You pull the comforting blankets over your mouth, your ears, your eyes,
Hiding from the intrusions upon Her lullaby.

Your blanket turns to water, the water turns to flame
And Her voice entreats you... one last time,
“AWAKEN!”

Copyright © 2006 by Roxanna Benson a/k/a Xanna Vinson