Where Does It End, Where Does It Beguin Poem by Cristobal Benjumea

Why did is there a posibility of drowning in the fountain, why did the extacy of love crown me and made me phsyche,

what bird from heaven heard my call

and ansuwered sweetly

i was as a fooll in front of beauty

I nnkelt before her and i said i find you bitter, and i swore at her

and today beauty is here in my pocket, of jewells

The memory of something pathetic

fields of wheat filds of orange groves

my garden with huricanes in the middle

calm in one of dantes circles

ever consuming and feeding the lamp of the wind

his holy comandment must come to be

to be or not tobe

to feel or not to feel the orange on the tree, threatened in the garden.

the circles denounce mirrages of her lips

endlessly coral red

the thorns on the rose bush clawed my phisical harnes o