DEAREST CLOUD IN THE SKY

DEAREST CLOUD IN THE SKY
Ricardo Antonio Garcia

The poverty of a poet is defined by the subtractions.
Is the table a feast, or the famine of potatoes his gourmet?
Are the windows glazed with time
and is the clearest day only in his head?
Staring across the table her eyes are bright
no matter how life tosses us about in its restlessness
I hold her love supreme.
The ebb and flow of life is not without heavy winds.
With torn sails, she still musters the strength
and I admire her Will and her courage.

The poverty of a poet feels the breathe of death.
A walk in the Sun perpetuates an element of peace.
Are the Cats and Dogs 
still running in a forgotten dream … I think they are.
In your long dress you look so beautiful
it takes my mind away from the struggles of life.
Outwitting time cannot be done
so every second I express my love for you 
I give all and everything that I am.
I bow to your Spirit.

I live the poverty of a poet that cries for a better hour.
Whether house or rain you share the intimate falling of them.
Is the refrigerator filled with food
and are your beautiful nails abused by the hard soap?
Looking into the mirror I ask God for continued Grace
for my elasticity is strung tight 
and at times I feel we are moving slower than a sloth.
Your love is all that I have
and know that I won’t loose it to these hungers.
Material things will come and go
and musicians and artists will all eventually die.

Proud to love you
I have amassed my fortune in your wondrous heart.
Hardship may never leave our lives
but hope is always shining in the gleam of your eyes.
When you turn in the bed
your restless voice is at deaths door at times.
If you leave me, I will be an orphaned and lost boy
never to be found, and remain lost to the World.
Never your touch, or the feel of you
could be recompensed by another, my love.
I live the poverty of a poet
and in these magical blendings our suffrages speak.
Must the true poet strike the chord of an impoverished life?
We are all led to a Cross .. 
and with the pounding of the nails we become Holy …

I love you Uli- the dearest cloud in the sky.