Ode to Robert Johnson

Oh Mr. Johnson,
did you
really
do it?
Did you
go to
the crossroads
Gibson in hand?
Were you
so desperate
to spread
the message of
the blues?
So brave
of you
to be
so willing
to pay
with
your soul.
Satan snatched
the fragment
of holiness
from
your heart.
His greedy
claws tore
through your
spirit.
Leaving you
clutching only
your
trusty instrument.
So young,
so youthful
you were
when your
dark eyes
closed
for good.
Just twenty-seven
was your age
when that
talented heart
ceased
to beat.
Whisky bottle!
Strychnine!
The loss
of a
musician.
Never another
like you.
You are
an enigma,
Mr. Johnson.
Your birth,
marriage, death
records and
your music
is all you
left behind.
We'll never
know for
certain if
Satan sapped
your soul away.
But one thing
cannot
be denied.
Your tragic
premature death
raised you
to the
status of
a legend
You influenced
you inspired.
You liberated
the musicians
of your race.
You played
an essential role
in bringing
us together.
You are the
undisputed master
of the guitar.
If his
Satanic Majesty
has your soul,
it is worth more
than all
material riches
he could
ever hope
to possess.
It has bought
fame for you,
music for all
and even
racial harmony.
You suffered
bravely, Robert.
It cost
your life,
but you
chose wisely.
You spent
your soul well
and we
are grateful
Oh Mr. Johnson.