An Aura.
Embellished with flaws and layered in crimson
Belonging to the flesh of perfection.

The irony.
A seam entirely made of obsidian rasping against obscurity.

The witness protection.
A monk whose wise ways made it past a mountain of youth.
Laid brick by brick and block by block, paved a way for the rest to walk on,
Engraving her name into idolization.
A person with soft hands, used them to dig through a core
Thought impenetrable.

She willfully sacrificed leg and limb, lacking care.
Revealing a heart in which blood seeped through,
And sweat-like tears drained from her pupils.
All formulated into an elixir that replenished my appreciation,
My happiness through her jubilant nature.
Pure lucidity draped upon a scenic mural, molded
By dimness as a celebration of life ensued.

A core.
Now faded away as I begged for her to stay
Watching others dig for her, putting her six feet under.
While love courses through the chimes of mourn, but respect.
She was physical, going toe-to-toe with giants,
And now her physical is no longer present.

A form.
Locked away underneath a milestone of remembrance while my
Grandma’s soul roams free from pain.