A Room Poem by Cristobal Benjumea

my love my clouds

i have to establish some parametres, hexameters in order for mi being bear consecuence

for god and the constelations perform their will

so as they weave the ceiling with what is more than a sideshow aimed to entertain and divert, a docile nation is easier to manipulate

the true meaning to life still depends on the suffer, sufered

absence, aparition
sense, senseless

a contextual existence can bring about harmony

a division of good and bad can give rise to the moral question

weather we sin not or sin

do we love do we forgive

are we tainted with hate

i want to sin

i want to sin, if its the difference

now i have acumulated all the sin of the world

i entered into a transreligious status, whos bird eye view revealed a plot to taint the heroism of our love that had moved mountains

that had no geographical bounds

that engenderd a sort of faint hope

You said you would go to the fire your spirit danced with me round the fire how could you body betray, you were mine



yet the puppy is still in the cage

and we want to play

So soon it rains

The sun eclipsed, and you cloud are like dew, like rain

not sun, burn endlessly like my rage which i scrible here

i wanted to suport union not separation

clouds rivers meadows and sun

the theatre

A dignifieed apoteosis

the harvest is done

with the wisdom of fields of wheat

and excesssive caressing

sating
relating
skating sensation of a ray of starr

silable of serenade