Daughter

I worship; the rich blackness of a starry night,
the sweet, salty taste of my lover's lips,
the smell of winter's dawn
the sound of a child's laughter of delight.

My church and my holy temple.....
but grass and dew below my feet.

My priest, my imam, my rabbi.......
but the beat of my own heart.

My scripture is just merely ..........
a lonely poet's incoherent meanderings.

For I am not the daughter of Eve
created from the rib of that tool Adam.
But I am the daughter of Lilith
created from the same dust and filth of man.