PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I'm afraid to use cliches, they do not do justice

The words that cannot be found.

I'm distraught at the loss of someone

That in 92 years, had perfected the entity of humanity. 

For what is idolised in words or scripture,

Was embodied through her means. 

It pains that more had not known

The intricacies that were her living.

Through the pain and turmoil that accompanied her,

Through her length of living and life,

She had bested that which many may not,

And welcomed death, grin on face;

"I have perfected that which you may now take

On nobody's terms but my own."

And she did so at rest, in comfort no less

And took with her lessons ineffable.

And yet, they are not lost in the silence of death,

But rebirthed in the counter of life.

Her lessons have fractured and spread;

Trickled down through the family tree. 

And yet this tree is broad and prosperous, 

For it was not restricted to those who share her blood,

But the select few who encountered her.

The term 'good woman' is a simplified way of saying

'I cannot begin to describe.'

Yet what has been taught will live indefinitely.

For her person is not that which resides in her physicality,

But what emanates in the metaphysical.

For the grief we feel is the immortalisation of all this,

This final etching of her into all we do.

The blessed minds and stained eyes of those she saw fit

To carry on the secrets of life.