210. JUBILEE
210 Moon Dog (1280-1294.2) JUBILEE Behold alone the drop of whiteness purity of your breast pouring from soul to soul in the rainbow of the parables the roses and the mines the nails and the bread unleavened of the joyful rosary and the powder and powder of my soul. There corroborate me that I laugh and cry Between the ventral frontier between the cold and the knot. Crossed your silent prayers weaving a mantle with each prayer a mantle for all roads and all the stigmata on the skin of the earth of your beloved son. With every church in every new village stitches of heaven in reefs of sweetness to the effervescent silence of the supreme sea.
Her transparent and sighing gaze diffracted in buds of roses over all sorrows and all shipwrecks spilled echo of spilled sap of spilled blood of pride, of arrogance, greed and tyranny. All together in sharecropping miraculous patches in every inn of pale and unfolded smile of the heart, of the human crystal in a pitcher prayer dancing the brambles of the desert bridle of pity and wind over the strides of the gusts of the burdened souls. To the mockingbird galloping in the abysmal skies of mystery And to the Umbral beat of the sons to war swollen, drums and trumpets, mercy mother of grace. Mother of grace carry the rigging with zeal with your reclining piety and with uneasiness of the one who has gone back and is flaming, for the long trot of those you will meet on the grounds of the Styx.
211 ISS (2000-2040) Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)
Bring your talk to the pilgrims on pilgrimage to the true abode, clothed in dawn; and to those who remain crossing, cornered by the haze by the mist and the fright of their blurred soul. blurred. Shelter in your mantle all those who exist and exist and those who could not exist for those exiled from Constantinople for those who have been struck down by Athens, for the Almogavars leaving the runes in some reddish autumn and of white undines with libations of purifying knives, chariots chased through exploded tunnels behind the trumpets of revelations in silence by a perennial chant. Sculpting you from the clay of my bones Kneaded, Electrified ribs of oratory To ask for your watering Of temple smiles Through the branches of my soul And in the roots of my Templar intent Reflection and presage of your Lilies and your Sandals Eternal. The Rose and the Allelis Telling you here here here But above all love The longed-for source of fervor
