To My Voice
My word, have you murdered me?
No? Then whose word? My what? Am I killed?
Did you do it? What have you done to me?
Is it to me though, is it to me?
Answer me, make an attempt at redemption.
There was once more to you
Than fuzzy grunts and the occasional hazy holler. The rogue zing
Of polished silver plating, the instant reactions of caesium.
What a mine.
What happened? When did your candlestick blow out?
Did you dig too deep?
Far too deep, yes, yes,
You lost yourself no-one knows.
You are as mine as the bottled love that I threw
To the watery underworld; carried away
By salty waves of unmet promises and passive negligence.
If you are shouting to me, your cries are just as lost
As you and a fool's hope.
I want to know at least,
Am I alive?
I have to know, but how deep do I need to step
Until I can hear you? Or
Do you even speak without that inebriating bottle
Rousing you into clumsy songs?
Oh my word,
I'm sucked down to you
By a vacuum of insufficient knowledge.
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Comments about this poem (To My Voice by Sandy Player )
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