Poetry

The Son of Music

Marley’s songs pass through my veins

and Marvin’s words travel through my spinal fluids.

I was conceived with the help of a piano keys

my mother was life and my father was music.

My heart beats drum solos

so low you have to touch my chest to hear it.

Rhythm is my soul and the blues are my spirit.

At birth trumpets signified my arrival

With me followed three angels Each equipped with a harp,

to insure my survival

To those who can’t see call me the gift of sight

I am the result of the love between music and life

By: Michael Hatcher

I wasn’t born with Wings

I wasn’t born with wings.

My first steps were far from a flutter.

My father never taught me how to fly.

There was something ugly about me.

Too close to ignore Too distant to touch.

A pineapple in a snow storm.

The cactus in a blizzard.

Destiny engraved black marks in my cradle.

Mercy is a dinosaur Too old to be relevant.

Too lethargic to provide empathy.

This world is my cocoon.

By: Michael Hatcher