All we benighted souls who seem so broken
More truly seen have simply not awoken—
We are sleepwalkers all, spellbound and cursed,
Destined to suffer till our spell’s reversed.
To be awake and feel the scales fall from
Our eyes, and speak who formerly were dumb,
Is miracle beyond imagining,
A happiness that only Love can bring.
Our sleeping beauty, truth, and goodness lie
Oblivious and inert until we try
To rouse ourselves to higher consciousness,
Inspired by Love to transcend our duress.
It’s true we are imperfect as we’re born,
Yet Spirit’s here, and we’re not left forlorn.