crossroads

As I stand in my den looking out on a beaten country road, a voice softly says "come to the crossroads".

But I do not listen, for I know what it is.

Everyday I hear this voice call out to me.

I never listen to the voice, for I know the history behind it.

For the crossroads is evil.

For I remember a tale told to me by a cajun man.

He told me of a blues player who sold hid soul to the travelling man.

I asked who the travelling man is the master of sin.

He travels the roads searching for souls who want to travel on the path of death with him.

As I remember this tale, I look out on the country road and say, "you will never get me".