Would I still be able to dream in colour when I'm dead?
My life revealed in vivid hues replayed inside my head,
Or restricted to shadowy visions in black and white?
Is death considered a more everlasting pitch-black night?
Those dreams? Could I possibly stroll the byways of my youth?
Righting many wrongs whilst cementing fundamental truths,
Would it be possible to ascend high on angel wings?
Or is my casket sealed tight with the closure of the hinge?
Reticently journeying along the paths well travelled,
Unsure of the roads either smooth-tarmacked or rough-gravelled?
Were Crusaders right, as they ventured to eternity
Is the sure way to heaven through good deeds and charity
Will I witness my demise, my moment of transition?
passing through the purgatory heavenly partition,
Rediscovering the lost cadence of my shattered heart?
Reborn again to Mother, as our infinity starts
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