For the full moon

Song Of The Crossroads by *orphicfiddler Beware the crossroads, mortal fair, For we are always watching there; But who, indeed, thou ask, are we? Hecate, not one, but three— Thrice the fury and the spite, Thrice the everlasting night That fast shall cling like specks of coal, Or like the sand upon a shoal, Unto the edges of thy soul— Thy bond to us complete. Beware the crossroads, mortal fair, For suicides are buried there, And their ghastly voices sound In the darkness all around— Listen not! lest they entice Thy fickle hand thy own throat slice, And join in their fetid ranks Beneath a cross of crooked planks— Meander not into their flanks, Pale mortal, we entreat. Beware the crossroads, mortal fair, For cold Lost-Hope is lurking there; He will catch thee in thy sleep, Betwixt the dawn and endless deep, And turn thy thoughts to bleak despair, Twist every dream beyond repair, And though we love thee, in our way, And wish thy fragile hope to stay, We cannot help thee on that day— We cannot Fate defeat. Beware the crossroads, mortal fair, For thy own Death is waiting there; He’ll come to thee by thy own hand Across a dank and dreary land— Thy life is thine, so take it well, (Though deaths like thine pave paths to Hell), Think not to protest, nor to fight, (Our prophecies are always right) Self-immolation lies in sight— Thy Death is thine to mete.