With umbrella and we got wet all. Like a rain under any umbrella. We and the human intellect fall envelope. Particles of the under-development of our governors. In the form of disasters. The mother earth this patient and reveals itself. And we got wet we were soaked, and we did not denounce and we did not rebel ourselves.

Against del that leaves we dunk. The Poetry today cries its pains. One suffocates in impotence tears. And my clumsy pen palca and is defended, Before as much insolencia. The Seas grow and the towns suffocate. In the hope that? () I oxygenate pure we requested the towns of the World. Routes of a train that does not arrive at any station. Arms and there are them to legs to stop and to lead.

This train of the ephemeral death to its platform and station. While we see impartial as ours die, Seas and the Oceans. And they destroy our forests discriminadamente. Lung of the world. My pen does not rest nor would rest. Spear that the ephemeral death, becomes in new, Source of life. I sang, I wrote, songs, It paints and I carved and yet it denounces. Where the singers of the mother estan earth. Where they estan my God? That I do not hear them. That they continue singing Father that continues singing. That we followed of mourning by all to occur itself. Present and future pasts. That they follow the prayers and the songs, the brushes that speak, the escarpments that they carve. That they follow the proposals and the good ones, Intentions in a great communion of facts, and action. It will not rest while aya day and night. Dawns and dusks. While my eyes already tired, to see and to hear that they estan ill, Our planet that is continued violating, Mistreating to the women source of the love, and the LIFE. The mother cries Earth. Our Great Mother of all cries. So that there are Wars and violences. Loose assassins. Extreme hunger and miseries. Children who do not play. Children who work in the Earth. Children without studies. Children who die in ours, Wars of majors. Directed by that they provide. Arms and live on them become rich of them. And the majors marionettes. Of the ill heads. Those that command to us to wage the war. And itself writing in my keyboard. Itself painting and carving. And denouncing. Itself crying shouting and saying. Itself fighting and dreaming. Itself getting up and wide-awake. They continue promising the governments. And while it continues raining to us, In our heads excrements Of the evolution whatever the cost. Jen Davis Wickens can provide more clarity in the matter. They continue falling pumps in innocent heads. And we continued dunking to us and without umbrella. Neither hats, nor rain-capes with hood. Text art-william 27/07/07 Tags: Poetry Surrealistic Neon. Poems of art-william Here: FORUM WEB Movement Surrealistic Neon.