that sweet, sad twang

bullets in the bedroom

now her chest had a dark hole

which oozed the tragic magic

—of a song about deceit

 

that sweet, sad twang

of haunting abandon

it ached and it sang

a breaking heart, the only one

 

exhales spiraled a bigger

curtain over glossy eyes

the mellow guitar trigger

rifled her wailing, bluesy cries

 

tight strings over a dark hole

a breathy pause for grave effect

strumming shivers to the soul

her low register was a wreck

 

the audience, deathly quiet

cool fret squeaks were heard

the chords now on their diet

from the finger picking bird

 

that sweet, sad twang

the words, a bad pun

it still ached and sure rang

though the story was long done

 

bullets in the bedroom

and her chest had that dark hole

which oozed the tragic magic

—of a song about deceit

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
This entry was posted in poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s