Forest, Again. Poem by cristobal obregon silvertop

A mask again, i have ridden the shooting Starr, my inebriated trance sees people, colours, chaos, folly, a forest, ruins, the sun from the orient, the promise of peace without victory, truth or a myriad of possibilities, a jump over the abyss, the bitterness breaks the shell of the flower of love whose image is eternal in the mind of the lover, the colours impress in his eyes, heaven, he sits at the fire of Venus and stares passed eternal doubt, into a new vission.