By brian francis
He was sitting and strumming on an old worn guitar
Dreaming of being the best there ever was
He sung in the churches blues tinted psalms to God
But he dreamed of fames alluring buzz
He came to a cross roads where fate played its hand
The music’s strum and rhythm touched his soul
And on a street corner he settled down with his song
Sealing his deal with the devil to reach his goal
Outside of the churches he had a wild juke of a time
Singing of sorrows and the lonesome loss of love
Sadness echoes long in the void of a hollow shell
Emptied and dried because he betrayed God above
He played delta blues better than any man ever has
Until at twenty-Seven his ticket was cashed
The debt was collected before his fame really came
But the devil remained smiling, unabashed
He inspired generations, his influence complete
His spark set to blaze Rock and Roll
All of those who came after praise him still today
And they remember the pain of fames toll
Author’s Note: inspiration – Robert Leroy Johnson
Copyright ©2020 brian francis
Wordsmith: At The Forge 