The white of her eyes cast a brilliant light, a frequency that transcends apparent illumination made manifest by the many fine lines that form upon her brow.
Eyes heavy and tired that hold lifetimes upon lifetimes of wisdom, the seekers pool of knowledge, one’s very own book of life. A personal rhetoric, an esoteric and eclectic blend of faith, fate and escapade.
Her hair, tight and plaited into rows of sterling silk thread, sitting back against the panorama of gentle hues and ripe bronze tones upon her wizened gaze; until they appear as great glowing fields sprawled across a sun kissed face.
A smile that will melt the coldest and of sternest of hearts; gold crowns that twinkle through the gap of tea tinted teeth.
Slow of hearing, scant of voice but swift to heal; with her life giving hug and soul stirring laugh, her palm within mine as if to speak of a great love between flesh and blood that transcends our DNA.
So to you who gave life to the one who gave me life, though you have departed we are never truly apart, and in your ascension you take one step further closer to your blessed destiny, one that was pre-ordained before history. And yet you came and went with a casual fearlessness, the true definition of deity, the vibration of divinity as a new chapter unfolds within the book. One I cannot see, nor hear but most definitely can feel.
The Philosopher's Poet 