A
Contract at the Crossroads
A blood moon shines in the hazy sky
As the gravel grinds into the dirt
Beneath the footfalls of the weary traveler.
The warm summer breeze drowses him;
Sweetly sweeping across the cotton fields,
It reminds him longingly of a warm pillow
And the broken promise of a full night’s slumber.
A long case swings lamely at his side
And grows heavier in his sagging hand
With every exhausting inch left behind him
Along his solitary country journey.
There at the lonely crossroads, a figure stands,
Dressed in smooth, crisp darkness;
A grin washing over its clever face.
It greedily awaits the weary traveler
With poisonously honeyed words,
Offering him the world at his fingertips…
And only asking for what the man neglects in trade.
The man agrees… signs on the invisible line,
To march forth, a legend… a mythic master,
But soon the hungry figure will collect his debt.
