Crossroads
At the crossroads where the devil lurks behind the old, dying tree,
near the cotton plantations that mold green and grey with age
turn to relics of the brutal Southern past.
Hear the southern bell sing her sweet song
to her Negro runner, as she watches him turn and blow her a kiss goodnight,
a Romeo and Juliet love affair,
that stops at the crossroads of black and white.
Near those run-down shacks is where she hid him,
till the night came overhead,
and that dirt road is were they left together,
on a big, white stead to the North,
till a shotgun blast silenced the night,
and ended the love that flew sweaty in the air,
like the death of a mockingbird.
The Devil himself took a soul back down to hell,
and the crossroads painted red with hatred and pain.
Dead young lovers hand and hand,
a picture painted in southern heat
on a Monday morning in a black and white newspaper,
written in black and white,
that's all it was, two colors that go good together.
.2.2.2014.
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