She Rises Like the Dawn

She Rises Like the Dawn

She was born of light and longing,
woven from whispers of the wind,
a force too wild to be contained,
too sacred to be dimmed.

Her voice carries the stories
of mothers, sisters, daughters—
the silent prayers, the echoing cries,
the laughter that turns tides.

She moves like the river,
soft yet unyielding,
shaping the land beneath her touch,
never asking for permission.

Her scars are not wounds
but constellations,
marking the map of her journey,
guiding others home.

She kneels to no one but the earth,
hands pressed against the soil,
listening, feeling,
remembering her own power.

She is the flame that refuses to fade,
the seed that splits the stone,
the breath of the divine
woven into flesh and bone.

And when they ask her,
"How do you keep rising?"
She smiles,
for she knows—
she breathes and whispers, Reverence!