Marco Driver

I am the son of a man whose god let him be
I am the son of a man who didn’t like me
I am a son, an uncle, a brother,
And I guess I am also the life of my mother
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Charge, you damn thing
Come on, or I’ll use my sling
Pretty please
I’m getting on my knees
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Useless lips that can whistle no more
Through gritted teeth I lay on the floor
One bullet in the stomach
Didn’t even know the dude
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He was a man with big ears
They were huge
And he sat
In his chair
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On a rainy night
A man walks across the street
Towards misty faces
He can see
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1975, a year full of surprise
I was born,
The start of my charted demise
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When he took her by force
She never complained

When he married her
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Forever negating the obvious
Obviously always agreeing
That the axiomatic
Could be
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900 channels of death
Lies, fabrications and sex.
And yet it whispers
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He sat in his chair
Drinking his soul through
Breathless, stale, air.
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I woke up this morning,
My body still yawning.

Looked out the window
...

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What is a kiss?
But a present full of bliss
Always in your life
From a mother’s smacker
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The con-science of mankind
Over the years has become blind
With earth’s history we are intertwined
But to her we’re not so kind
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Beady eyes looked to the skies
A figure looming, tragedy brooding
Skipped heart beats, the man wore pleats
A hand reaching, soul’s force depleting
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Life is made of moments.
Unmistakable moments.
Moments that changes your life forever.
These moments, are fragments, snippets of time.
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You never hugged me
You never kissed me
You never said “I love you”
And I don’t know you
...