Momma Stewart’s 3^rd Son

By Stan Stewart, 2008

I was her 3^rd and last one

The last son, you see

And thus carrying on the family name

Carrying the name was to be placed on me

Only been on the planet for a little while now

Still trying to understand the whys, wherefores, and how

Of her male Babies, I want to know why was I the only one, Momma Stewart’s 3^rd Son,

To survive the traps of the booze, the drugs and the gun 

Wherefore and who knew

Back in the day, as we played in school

That most of my peers would now be dead or jailed or walking dead or gone crazy fools

How

How

How was it that God placed upon this one

Momma Stewart’s 3^rd son

The burden of continuing this race, the legacy of the empty space, the images of my dead friends faces

And yet still I must run this race

Sometimes feeling like I am just running in place

Running like the wind no time to waste

One day to to see the look of “well done’ on my Master’s Face

You wanted to know me

Who I am and who I be

I am so much more than what you see

I am survivor, and thriver, and driver and other complexities

Open your eyes and look at this one

God Chosen Survivor of the drugs and booze and guns

Still smiling at the memories of friends who have moved beyond where life’s race is run

I am

Momma Stewart’s 3^rd son