Messiah trifle
Each one speaking with their eyes, after looking at various roofs without their own rooftops, all serene, ... but half of their faces in violet iridescence, sounds and choral masteries emerged from the surface in flocks of white doves from the Azores islands, it rained growing multiplied times on its wings, before reaching the mass of the annunciation near the stable. Vernarth arrives and sees people gathered together and holding hands, others holding the cowbells of the animals to hear the sweet voice of the little boy flapping like cotton in the harvest of the braying of a colt that fell asleep in the shadow of its parents before to eat. Vernarth puts down his sword Xifos and kneels and crosses himself, with the hand that allowed him to move his fingers, unlike his right chest wounded in battle. He makes a metallic cross sign when crossing his swords with water flooding the sidewalks of his latest dazzled ideologies. One day he wandered away from the alleys of Emmaus where he had visions of Praetorians, discovering the idolatrous humors and aromas of a newly arrived child from the white clouds of an approaching stable.
Fearless and with light years he came crawling in his arms, and with his crown traveling from the smallest space that the world unburdens in a Templar, first-time and omega period, with the appearance of being born for all.Perfect and newborn with frequent blue body, blood and eyes. Covered with gummy substances and gelatinous…, anti-Herodian; seeming to save others with their little hands of divine matrix, which manage to enter the heart of God, even with fingers that do not reach the eyelashes of God. He is never seen as strange, only his ***** that never seems to come out of him. But it is spontaneous; he sparkles outside the womb of his holy mother, with immersed placenta in his prayers of the induced shepherd of the womb of the ****** Mary. That large arms shelter the orchards, to surround all those present in a birth that looked like that of a female ******, who could raise a child to be King of the consecrated animals as well, as few do wanderings to the right of the Menorah resident waking her up early.
Vernarth says: “What should we expect? ... The vigil ... with his shoulders bowed and his head pointing north of Jerusalem, this petty king bending his pre-fetal knees, after nine candles to the right of the troubled Menorah. Even though it was not premature, the midwife who helped the puerperal Maria distanced him from the halo parenthesis, which playfully changed where to put himself, near his holy interior, or that is a trigger for the powers of luminescence. Self-creating from a thick but light layer of psyche, which would make him independent from Joseph and Maria… and if there were not! His fists since he was a child had indications of a stigma, when he was just unborn and not born, blue flames came out of his hands, illuminating the eyes of his dazed parents. His golden reflections of Rabbi suckled serous when his mother slept, he did not allow him to see her consciously removing her intra lacto lymph from her entrails, in whose gothic light, she ****** the dominant magnificat of the Vulgate. He ****** in order to take his lacto and his left hand to space it out to all who wanted to enter his meta-object cooing. Thus he introduces his thumb into his mouth, pressing it on his palate, startled at the braying of the funny colt. All those present took with their hands the other hands with their own thumbs, returning to their childhood cycles just navigating in the manger. At that moment, far from feeling the lights walking close to the fields of vision, shiny noble metals ..., their eyes dazzled chandeliers as if they were twinning. Here he moves his arms copiously as if wanting to fly from there, with the vigor of his winged mother, to follow her beyond a tender left-handed Golgotha deception. That he retained the pendulum coming and going from one arm lower than the other, when turning on him embracing his lush maternal hand.”
His early nervous system that was celebrating on the back of the colt, stood out with rags in the temples that he imagines to be, sacral effluvium in waters on the flat cattle, the camel and Raeder and the Pelican Petrobus and other animals, who were on their knees and smiling with their hands glued to each other, all sweet to the right from the sweet nectar of the mangificat. All the excited animals still trembled with excitement on the ground and demure from this alpha biblical moment, they all imitate the trembling animals, but each of the adults who were, hugged the hands of each animal and child present as a sign of giving comfort to the parents, along with their children who seemed to be an adult saying goodbye to their birth. His scaly breathing, was full of anagrams of magnificat, they used to trace the analgesic source of the dream of seeing him among golden and straw fistulas of grasses breathing next to him. The voices were heard from outside, of those who could not enter the glory and breath without equal of the resentment of the world, distracted in a piece of tin and hardened hearts, now resplendent from seeing so much sleeping their gaze on them and sleepy yawning a child Golden. When they breathed his glory, they catered to the patrons of Priestess Deborah, who for some normalized his feminism and strength into a mother breathing the libertarian and midwife history of a nation that should have been born in a stable in Judah. Mary and Joseph, every second they distracted themselves from looking at him, felt that the Messiah grew too large, worrying them about this strange unreality. They breathed more than their own son, seeing him without breathing what he had to do in the Lord's garden where he allowed him to do it today. Everything that his parents took to be distracted, the Little Messiah brought it to fruition to bring it together in the shine of his blunt nails, coercing those present with love by adoring and hugging them ..., even beyond the cobblestones that were towards his sacred back, hiding in the shadow of any gesture of a political enemy.
Saint John says: “God son and Man, priest made Pope…, the younger ones run after the older ones, the bible for more apostles so that they may enlarge and spread it, that the Gospels add more pages and favorite editions. Procoro; you who are… in some seat on Patmos prepare sacred scrolls with the thick corpulent ink…, which will reach your cell and seat. Studies ... something's wrong...? An anointed Christ needs us to write for him, because his hands are asthma in words and inspiration that move all the leaves of the world, reading them scattered and lecturing,….in every well and every step, where son and man, where king and mother and where each mother has to dry the cloying slime that dries up the mystery of having her white and emaciated. Let her sleep, perhaps when she wakes up she will find a Messiah who will never cease to be in her arms…, in the Magnificat and on a colt to take her back sitting on a blanket with stripes written in her ratio…, of two magnitudes, Mother - Son / Son- God "
Messiah trifle
