Poem 6 | Mothers

Fathers die and Mothers fade into their skins folding into cracks. The cold thin lines of their hairs are drawn into a crown, much like the fading gray rays of sunset. We are all drawn unto death much like the sun, set to fade into the west, unwilling like a child's heart that cracks open upon the might of approaching death. And there is no relief from this kind of despair, because we must bear pain in order to move on from life that fades into the unknown but possible rebirth.