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Patina Or the Raven
Crossroads are where demons and angels collide.
Where character's tested by the yellow fangs of fire.
A place where conscious 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 conscious is oak strong and crystal clear.
Wisdom turns opaque, the heart writhes in billowing thumps.
as hells ravens swoop in wearing lipstick and six-inch pumps.
Will you nestle in weathered patina where true love persists,
or lick a sirens poison berry as it coos over your naked ID.
Life decisions must be made, both the brazen and wise.
When the last page is turned where will your soul lie.
Copyright ©
Anthony Biaanco
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