His heart, now the colour of his wife.
Ashen grey and broken.
The urn smashed, scattering them both across the clouds.
Little flecks of life stuck on the window of the world.
As the volcanoes rumbled and the gods groaned.
Down they both came in the rains.
Licked up by the wood spirits and the humans below.
Pooling in the heart of the world.
Cells and shells, finding the seabed of the soul.
Undulating to the sound of time.
Those tears of the gods which fell in this passing.
Are drunk only by the sinners, like sweet wine.
Havoc and Consequence 
An interesting belief, about how the soul lives on, even after, all the, vital signs of life are, gone.
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Waiting to come back and do it again maybe?
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Sad, but beautiful and with a sense of hope that we all return to nature to complete a cycle.
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Everything has to have a fine layer of hope right? Glad you liked this Chris.
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