Song of the Empress*
The Song of the Empress has woven it's weave
And few are the ones who will ever perceive
This story that I am to tell
The song is part woven remembering pain
An ache beyond all of the wind and the rain
So deep are roots of her spell
But right at the heart of all that she sings
Still whispers a joy that within her still rings
Where all of the mysteries dwell
The song is much more than just words and a tune
Each move reminiscent of Sun and the Moon
The voice ringing out like a bell
Calling through all of the depths of the night
Within every effort, so shining and bright
To cleave all the remnants of hell
And there on the altar on which she was bled
Overcoming the fear and the feelings of dread
Enough crimson to fill up a well
And still on she sang and still on she flew
And still on her powers of winsomeness grew
Along with her moves there befell
A weave that's been long in the making
An arras that's truly breathtaking
And scars now so gently are healing
From wounds of the days of the reeling
And whispering wind is revealing
That the Empress's Song is not done
I wish I could think The Song was reply
But all that I get, as hard as I try
Is a jumble feelings, no insight is left
It may be that I am just feeling bereft
If it is a response with a most heartfelt sigh
You know that, by now, I am willing to try
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Everyone of these songs I wrote for you can be interpreted, also, as being written to womanhood which, to me, you are.
