"evangelista" poems
Hermano mio, yo se que te sientes cansado y estas confundido,
Se a levantado el enemigo para averte herido.
Yo se que aveces as pensado darte por vencido,
Pues se que facil no hacido
(Coro)
Pues yo comprendo que lo que estas pasando hoy,
Tambien lo he pasado yo, que se me acaban las fuerzas.
Pero te digo, hermano esfuerzate al llegar, se que no es facil caminar,
Pero Dios es tu fortaleza.
Oyeme hermano mio, No te rindas en la batalla
Oye ministro pelea, aunque tu sientas que satan se levanta.
Yo se que no es facil ver como los tuyos te dan la espalda.
Pero no te detengas, No te rindas en la batalla.
(nonono)
(/Coro)
Hermana mia (escucha)
Yo se que muchos an marcado con heridas tu vida.
Te as sentido muy sola, la victoria conquista.
Pues Se que aveces as pensado terminar con tu vida,
Pero Dios es tu alternativa.
(Coro)
No te reindas en la batalla, aunque sientas la tormenta...
Oyeme hermano mio, No te rindas en la batalla
Oye ministro, evangelista pelea, aunque tu sientas que satan & el gigante contra ti se levanta.
Yo se que no es facil ver como los tuyos te dan la espalda.(nono)
Pero no, Pero no te detengas, No te rindas en la batalla.
Pelea(4x)No te rindas en la batalla.
Pelea(4x)No te rindas en la batalla.
Pelea(4x)No te rindas en la batalla.
Pelea(4x)
Y No te rindas en la batalla.(aaa)
(No te rindas en la batalla.)
Pelea(7x)
(No te rindas en la batalla.)
Aunque se levante satanas contra ti mi hermano.
(No te rindas en la batalla.)
No Te Rindas Pelea. (4x)
Oyelo Evangelista oyelo Pastor oyelo Ministro!
No te rindas en la batalla!
Aunque quiera satanas derrotar tu familia
No te rindas en la batalla.
Pelea No te rindas en la batalla
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
A caterpillar had the feeling
That change was coming
That time was stealing.
To embrace the metamorphosis
It wove a cocoon around its chest
And choose our wall to take its rest.
The young are thoughtless, often cruel
And I was no exception.
I would have destroyed it but
for Frankie’s intervention.
Frankie lived in the corner house
He was older and quite wise.
He taught me that this green cocoon
would change into a butterfly.
He bade me watch, he had me wait
to see the wonder taking shape.
We saw the Monarch first take wing
once caterpillar, now a King.
Several summers passed us by.
I still lived but Frankie died-
He was nineteen, Young and brave
A landmine put him in his grave.
He died just before Saigon’s fall
His name’s inscribed upon the Wall
Corporal Frank Evangelista Junior,
beloved by mother and mourned by sister.
He was too good, too young to die.
He would have been a butterfly.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 5:11 PM UTC
Have you ever felt a tear fall lovely
It’s gorgeous
More than dying to a everlasting piano chord or holding pinkies
Your flowers bloomed in my mood
I’m your florist
My throat grows sore
As I remember lovely perturbations
And lovely sensations
And times where you were loving and held tight to your patience
And I wonder when you go when I can’t feel your presence
It’s a present breathing in all the ******** from your old lessons
Legions **** on what was legit
I never wanted such a lovely heart break or a heavy soul
It’s never been a time when your eyes met mine and I looked past your demise
But for some reason I appreciated your lovely lies
Lovely sight
Lovely sighs
Ugly fights
Thick thighs
Tight grips
Cold fingertips
They say the coldest hands have the warmest hearts
I wonder if you thought I was lovely from the start
Am I pretty enough?
Quiet enough?
Do I lie too much?
Do I cry too much?
Why do we fight so much?
Why do I miss your your touch so lovely?
Where are the words you speak with your lovely kiss?
I guess I might walk steadily enough to be a model but my features aren’t of Linda Evangelista
I’m eye candy for the diabetic
I’m a lovely view
But you’re used to savory things
One time my voice didn’t quake
And my loving moans wondered off in the walk of shame
My silence was deadly and you couldn’t handle my tongue in the most innocent of ways
You said you adored it
Treasured it
Never heard something so true
Same way I’ve never seen someone as lovely as you
I guess our lovelies didn’t quite match
For once I spoke my last words
My honest broke our latch
My truths hurt and my lies were sometimes too blunt
Bold and beautiful yet enough to make you
Jump
Ship
Forget
Split
Walk away from me and live
Touch me lovely
Scream me lovely
Miss me lovely
Hold me lovely
Lovingly cry about me
My comebacks are mighty and your stamina was slightly too small
Too lightly
I was lightweight in weight
and you in mind
It’s funny
You’re the kind of lovely only the wicked could find
I miss you lovely
The way you touched me as I held the metaphorical heat gun to the edge of my thoughts and
Pulled the trigger
When you couldn’t pull me together I miss your feathers
I miss our weather
Sunny enough for glares
Cold enough to exchange sweaters
I miss your lovelies because you was my true love
Touch me lovely
Scream me lovely
Miss me lovely
Hold me lovely
Lovingly cry about me
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
Quando la giovinezza si fa buia
prima che sopravvenga a dominare
la luce dell'ascolto,
ogni parte di me si fa tensione
e le mani scrittura misurata.
S'apre la vaga ellissi del volume,
sopra cui la cadenza si fa scure
che trapassa nel vivo la materia.
Ed io incido col soffio del respiro
mentre la morte s'alza in me supina
per un connubio acceso di sospetti.
478
Parable of Torvisco: “branched among the thickets of ignorance, their foliated stems speak of the white blood that has fallen from the souls that resiliently endured the solitude of their limbs and who enjoyed their ruddy bark and the pubescence of the Daphnes that gawked at over them turned into Laurel, she being a spatulate flower of Vernarth, like Apollo elliptically adoring her with the underside, and something fuzzy hiccuping over the teachings of someone who is not loved. Being the Daphniform Torvisco, of appressed retractable sepals that are pronounced on the laurels in Dafnomancia of the pubescent Torvisco on the first ************ of Daphne, leaving the ovoid crusts near the foliate stolon of the grayish spurs on the fins of the Pelecaniformes Petrobusjos, leaving the Malloga the lice. of their plumage that they are eaten by laurels, as a carminative antispasmodic digestive degassing, in the flora of the intestinal Torvisco engulfed by their pride and eagerness of nobility.
Parable of Sacred Bud: “first the animals and the buds that emanated from the inflorescences were venerated, as gods of the occult sprouting from the long-lived saps being miscellaneous family taxonomies that were consecrated to gods trapped by the mists of their foliage, over the colonies of other species with outbreaks of bud expiration in the distant buds of the leaves, towards non-renewable woody plants, for critical tempering to germinate on the dogma of woody herbaceous plants, as sacred shoots of ferns without their cell walls. Here is the tree of evil and good, sprouting one of each but as hyper-sprouting, which deceived the eyes of those who wanted to cut it because of the human snooping in bloom, on the shores of Medea's hands, growing on the shore of a headless river deity, who was not yet poisoned by an Olympian gesture, agreeing to have long fragrant and rosy hair on the pubescent teenagers who dared to call themselves Medea "
(Prócoro redoubling his sinister imagination of the Rosé of the Witches and grotesques, he was still ecstatic at the expectation of the extensions of the Rosary of the Evangelista San Juan simulated in the crowned Torvisco, for purposes of the genetics of the world in the hands of pubescent bodies that were embodied in the bodies and their stolons, like retrograde shoots going towards the spheres of the pelecaniform Petrobus and its little lice that resided in it as vital alarms. Structuring thus, the grazing that ran from its wings with vigorous fine pediculosis, which was abstracted from the scalps Medea decked out in megalomania in the sprouts of the Enchanted Torvisco)
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 6:16 PM UTC