DISTANT SON (Dedicated to Tristan)

DISTANT SON (Dedicated to Tristan)

Ricardo Antonio Garcia

I often wondered…

which footprint on the sidewalk is of my son.

He teleported me out of his mind…

and I have been banished from his heart…

still my heart beats once for him…

as they beat in succession for the others.

I often tried to understand…

why he never needed to know me-

I’ve admonished my mistakes:

slept on the ground…

as a homeless face without anyone loving me…

became a King...

as a poetic master and glorified by books…

became a worthy musician…

and became a collectible artist painter.

I often wondered how he speaks…

and talks across from a dining table.

He banished me because I was corrupted…

and somehow unforgivable…

did he ever find God…

or something to learn about forgiveness?

He would have been proud…

to know that I shine in all my glory today…

apart from running numbers…

before his own glory days John would say…

best leave him alone until he’s ready.

My Son- never became ready…

and age has swept across time soon to take me away.

His bits and pieces are all I save…

I often pray…

that one day a bittersweet resolve will come

DISTANT SON (Dedicated to Tristan) (continued)

Ricardo Antonio Garcia

as our bond melts the snow away…

and fills us with a clarity unknown.

Paris sings in my ears as well as his ears…

whilst reaching the levels of Spiritual fame…

I would want to share these sounds.

Tristan- I saw his eyes at first light…

but she never brought him back around again.

Then- it was also a cold winters day…

a baby carriage and a walk on the street…

I fell to my knees.

Its true- I was a man who had many women

and no sense of direction…

I often escape…

and desire the dragon to engulf my pride…

for the merit of gulls… hover over my roof…

…so many miles I’ve escaped.

It was never a question if I ever loved his mother…

but the artist held me in check…

all the coming days of my wreckless life.

He would simply be amazed…

that I amounted to anything at all…my distant Son.

He would never have fully lived…

until he excepted the sacred stone of forgiveness…

and bled a little for others…

especially those who he’s hated and requited.

I have often cried silent tears…

for the unknown children who came from my flock…

looking to be respected- simply for my art.