I read about the artists
who sold their souls for skill
in trade with darker forces
that always have their will
I read the works of masters
now long lost, gone and dead
and relish in their worlds that now
reside inside my head
I too have struck a bargain
not once but now and then
where souls have been involved to
make sharp enough my pen
But I don’t need dark forces to
inspire me to write
I smith my words in shadows
so what I need is light
I meet them at the crossroads
and listen to their plea
I grant them inspiration
and they inspire me
And as they build their artworks
I work on my own draft
inspired by their fervor
in practicing their craft
When thus wrought masterpieces
have reached their final line
the authors of those stories
become characters in mine
For nothing is as perfect
to make my stories whole
as to lock in them a mortal
who has volunteered their soul
And thus my inspiration and
the sharpness of my pen
depends on souls of artists and
the vanity of men
So meet me at the crossroads
and sell your soul tonight
I smith my words in shadows and
for that I need your light
...these grains of sand 