The Crossroads

I went to the Crossroads one cold night,

The dirt was frozen, there was little light.

I sat in the center, of the direction I faced:

I know not where.

I sat at the Crossroads, in the middle of nowhere,

I did something only few would dare.

I sang, a sad melody, into the air,

I sat and sang, just sitting there.

I sang for many things, of my lonely note,

I sang of my bereavements, rote by rote,

The words poured from my throat,

Living words I made then, in the air remote.

I could hear the grasses moving by my person near,

Though there were no nearby animals, I fear.

I listened as close as I could hear,

Perhaps it was a rabbit? Coyote? Deer?

No, a voice murmured in a tone so low,

‘Why do you sing so sadly so?’

Tears fell yes, my breathing slow,

Words could not come out, could not flow.

When I looked up once more,

There was a single white bone on the Crossroad’s moor,

A tiny thing, I knew not what for,

But it wasn’t there when I had come before….

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4 thoughts on “The Crossroads

  1. Pingback: Weatherwax Wednesday | Notes from the Underground

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  3. Pingback: Mytho-poetry in the modern world | Notes from the Underground

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