CONTEMPT OF MORNING

CONTEMPT OF MORNING

Ricardo Antonio Garcia

The contempt of morning is an overthrow shadow

worn like a garment, and

I am clothed by its remorse and distain.

The self fulfilling prophesy

has twained the poet with God like perceptions

and in this duality

I suffer the War of the ego.

Had we eaten the bread when it was given

our communion with Grace

might have expelled a lighter air energy

fortifying our Souls with answers to our echoes.

Penniless fools we become

when the Spirit slowly dies a tortuous death

leaving us as a marble bust

perhaps in some Dead Poet’s Society hall.

The contempt of love has slammed its door

and it ricocheting action disturbed the ocean floor

for how deep love has slashed our hearts.

Lying upon the ground I will cry

as I have lost my ego in this material World of strife.

Can the dead ever hear these weeping sounds?

The contempt I have for myself

is no longer an illusion of the maturing self, but

a tragic end to the days of my suffering.

We pick and choose and sound the alarm

when a poet changes our minds.

Shallow are the waters of this life, knee deep

in the austerity of the Truth.

Contempt-

builds constituencies of an ill Spirit.

Contempt-

reweaves our anger into messages unknown.

Darkness shall never know the Light

foraging in the sky above as a morning glow …

How art my God- in me?