At A Crossroads Poem by DM W

Between the old church,
and the new bars and brothels,
lie the sacred and
sordid secrets of the streets.
From supplications
to a higher power by
the fragrant altar;
to stealthy drug deals at dawn.
Between the needle
and the vein, the coldest of
kisses. The pale blue
bride of death hovers over
surreal, out of joint
scenes, like a famished raven.
Between light and dark,
the constant human struggle,
as the spirit is
willing, but the flesh is weak.
Between you and I,
attempts at communion,
as distances grow.
Yet, we can't fail. For if we
do flowers of Truth
will not fully bloom and Love
will wither. And we'll
still be chained to metal ways.
in a restless age,
of profound disenchantment.