The Price
Some people come
to the Crossroads
for fame or fortune
or even to walk or talk again,
but there are the few who come
to hear Robert Johnson play.
They don't understand
the price that they are paying
for hearing him play,
but some do.
The wise walk away
before the first note floats
into the air.
They never look back
when the screams start,
and Robert Johnson begins laughing
as he turns in a demon.
The poor souls float
into the demon's guitar
until the demon transports itself
back into the Blackest Night.
Is it the right price
to hear him play
one last time?
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
