Patina Or the Raven
Crossroads are where demons and angels collide.
When a character is tested by the yellow fangs of fire.
A place where conscience is perched atop slippery stakes,
and brimstone snakes rise up to rattle St. Peter's gate.
Where Robert Johnson sold his soul for a guitar of deep blue notes.
Where temptation is often throbbing, and goodness is provoked.
Throughout a lifetime, hazy crossroads will suddenly appear.
Just when we think consciousness is oak strong and crystal clear.
Wisdom turns opaque, the heart writhes in billowing thumps.
As hell's ravens swoop in wearing lipstick and six-inch pumps.
Will you nestle in weathered patina where true love persists,
or lick a siren's poison berry as it coos over your naked ID.
Life decisions must be made, for both the dull and wise.
When the last page is turned, where will your soul lie?
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