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