All Roads Lead to Him

Hey there, handsome —

Tall, broad across the shoulders,

Just enough,

In all the right ways.

Stubble studs a chiseled jaw,

A cocky smile for imagined mirth,

Bluest eyes laughing under denim.

He looks like leather and old cigarettes,

Perhaps a toothpick tucked in his

Creamy Stetson as he tips it —

Just a little, not too much —

Turning to face me

With that arrogant smile.

Plaid shirt unbuttoned,

Just enough to show definition.

I slow my roll, clocking him —

The dust on his boots,

The stance that says he knows.

He can tell I notice.

The music saves me as it warbles,

Spilling from the dimly lit bar,

Fluorescent flickers on offer.

Another tuck of chin, a hat-tilt.

“I buy you a drink?”

He offers in that slow whiskey drawl,

As I near the frayed red padding,

The lone free barstool among mutterings

And wobbly music from the LCD on the far wall.

“If you answer one question first,”

I say with measured pace.

He studies me, more thought than casual,

Shoulders jump, pupils flare.

As an afterthought he flips the shot back,

Grabs his denim jacket from the wall peg,

Door opening, closing —

And he is gone.

Only the low murmur remains,

And one lone woman at the bar,

Drinking nothing.

So it is with many who ask,

Yet flee before the cost.

They sip at shadows,

But will not drink the Light.

They seek the answer,

Yet tremble when it speaks.

For wisdom is no trinket,

And truth no casual draught.

It asks for everything,

And offers more than all.

All roads lead to Him.