She wields heaven like so much clay at the tips of her fingers
    to view her resting is to behold the face of God
    yet to behold her angered, is to view the first of the Fallen
    She is the pinnacle of juxtaposition,
    a voice as melodious as an angel
    a form as seductive as a demon
    In her eyes is the reflection of tomorrow, of hope
    In her mouth are the echoes of yesterday, of despair
    In her touch is ecstasy,
    In her absence, agony
    One would follow wherever she leads,
    if only one could fly
    Yet to understand her is to comprehend destiny
    to touch her is to feel the universe
    easy to happen, hard to see to its completion
    one can follow wherever she leads
    if only one can fly.