Spiritual

The Purple havocs meet where silver leaves the crimson scabbards. 
Sights fade to black through azure windows placed in cloudy frames. 
The flurry fades to a wind that carries a field's hush in its arms. 
A hot pie cools on the window sill, but in a boy's mind from times long ago. 
And so the soul's relentless trudges with our sinful side inevitably slow, 
But up this mountain of time, with mists of emotions and senses, we go. 
Nearly ethereal, lustless, timeless, it's manner irrelevant, death arrives. 
The moment wherein consciousness fades holds within its folds the entire show. 
And the mother holds her son by the shoulders sizing him up, gazing into his eyes. 
Relinquishing hearts we always through this life will do, 
Not only others' but in the end our very own, too... 
This if not to the rest of life, 
Then to the rest of death.

Life and Death.