Musing of a Voice

Postcard bitter.
A leather bag in hand.
No one to love anymore.
Hollow-hearted in my bonecage.
Eyes a hazel empty ocean.
Postcard bitter.
Voice as raw as harmonica.
Blowing through the empty air.
Blue coat floating like a scissored cloud.
At my feet like ragweed.
Postcard bitter.
It's like raining in the desert.
To wait for your heartstrings.
Like blind David and dwarf Goliath.
Fighting, but not going anywhere.
Postcard bitter.
I'll drop it at your feet as I leave.
Face obscured by silk grass.
My mahogony lengths of hair.
My strife-sickened bitter face.
Postcard bitter.
Maybe you'll remember me.
On a day when you feel dead inside.
Like the way I was at your feet.
Like a servant for Prince John's mercy.
Rusty metal on my chipped fingernails.
Playing a song.
Postcard bitter.
Deaf by youth, death by shallowness.
Deep as a river of tear in a desert.
The kind of deep you can't see.
Not yet.
Postcard bitter.
See you later.