Awake my Soul

My soul has slept too long in small rooms,
dreaming of walls.
But dawn is breaking —
not only on the horizon,
but in me.

Awake, my soul.
For life is not a circle that closes—
it is a river,
a spiral,
a widening dance.

I rise.
The stars are burning.
The galaxies spin
The first light that broke the darkness
lights up my being.

Yes, I have stumbled.
I have carried sadness like stone.
But even in the breaking,
God was resurrecting
shaping the cracks into openings for that light.

Cells once learned to join together
Roots stretched deeper.
Wings unfolded.
Eyes opened.
And in the long patience of Becoming,
I, too, have come awake
to see the holiness of it all.

Awake, my soul,
to the sacred unfolding—
the pattern too vast to name,
yet etched in every feather,
every heartbeat,
every child’s first word.

Awake to the Presence
that stirs in the great blossoming itself—
God rising in the song of life,
increasing,
deepening,
expanding the chorus
that began in silence.

I will not stay asleep to the wonder.
I will not stay folded. I will unfurl.
Unbound, unmasked.
For I was not made just to sleep in the shadows,
but to awaken—
to know myself woven
into the vast tapestry of God.

Awake, my soul.
And keep waking.
For the dawn is not once,
but eternal