Dead Lioness

Some could say she was a multi-ethnic poet, others
Might want to focus on her motherhood to two
Peaceful beings, grown up to become models, of
Honesty, kindness, fairness and dignity.

Her friends toast to her with champagne glasses,
As her father before her, she enjoyed life to the fullest,
Without major extravaganza casting smiles, able to twist
Sorrow into laughter, lighting rooms as she entered.

Her lovers remember her as the sensual essence
Of a woman, so they defined her many a time, though
She’d ignore why. She wore no make-up nor high heel
Shoes, no creams to prevent age from exhibiting itself.

Her tattooist drew the stars on her body, has knowledge
Of the celestial maps engraved with ink by needles,
Yet I am the only one who knows her deeply, in me
She confided, the creative thoughts concealed in her mind.

She was a tenacious human with courageous concepts,
Dictated by inspiring instincts, something she called
Universal consciousness underlining all, that ever
Was, is and will be, throughout special infinity.

She reconnected the dots and spread the word enticing
Those who crossed her passage to feel, the harmony, unite
In common realisation, that we are one with all and nothing
Can support our existence other than love.

I’ll miss her tender lioness features,
Her mane covering eyes elsewhere, as she gazed
Into the abysses in my direction. Faithfully hers forever,
Mac Apple, alias Pro.

[Featured painting: The Persistence of Memory, Salvador Dalí, 1931]


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