it is to the crossroad i bid you
that forbidding place
where i have come to await the coming day
where i take food and wine
ease my weariness
rest my bones

there at the crossroad
the drumbeat of war once shook the earth
and the choirs of the chosen
made dizzying heights from  
stone that inspired the soul
and a dry wasteland of fertile field

there in the lightly falling snow
in the passing of good and true
in the final breaths of brave and kind
good men have passed to shadow
that others should rise to take
up their swords

i linger here
i know not why
the light snow has given way to driving storm
and while warm shelter lay near at hand
i only draw thin veil of cloth to my shoulder to fend off
the bitter wind
why linger at this cold unforgiving place
at this unbound and and unblessed
crows haunt
where the cold country priest
counts his handful of silver
and it is the gravedigger who
ponders the true song of the soul

for the true saints
are the ones who knew the
path leads not to riches
but to peace
that brotherhood and love
are far more precious than jewels
i have waited for such men
i have hoped to be a student of such nobility
i think i have not have had the privilege
and will not till i enter the gates of the kingdom

but i linger here at the crossroads
suffer the price to pay
suffer the crucible of soul
for to pass the gates
you must be of known mettle
for once he comes
i shall be there to paint the swirls of smoke
and the banners and flags
i shall be at the hill
waiting to meet him
with my pen

i echo that question
i have sat that waiting
have buried that treasure
and seen the handiwork
of artisans and seekers
know the presence
but i as yet do not understand
i think perhaps
that a master of tongues
or a scribe of the sky
could not decipher the simplest word
after even a thousand thousand years

i shall wait here
at my crossroads
content with my food and wine
content with this light snow
and the company of the gravediggers song
of the soul