Pilar Palacios Quito
Not wither their cocoons and remain fragrant roses in the spring of time infants do not darken his days are still light in the middle of the night do not end after the epitaph, remain open prologues, where the children die each year die!, assigned to be life, memory and hope! nOnce children die enhances the pain and only the intimate conviction that they find life beyond, after death, full of eternal life, nourishes and oxygenates our desire to live even when turn off the light in our cytoplasm, even when caged our atoms in nostalgia, even when drawing the tattoo on his absence in our steps, only the illusion that new auroras with saturated frost hope will be challenging noxas Spartacus gallop in tormenting marshes of memory. When children die life leave his body language and pride themselves in the brilliant way the mystery, other dimensions are witnesses of His grace, other breezes wave his hair, and are not subject to replacement biological material, are spirits who have climbed to vast forest of memories, the kingdom, are fragrant and bloom floating in the cosmos depressive our pains, are energy that enters our cores in search of absent yesterday and tomorrow, in search of the meeting that will mark a day or two behind despite the death of her. When children die each year die!
Gain the glory, the sky, leaving the darkness to be filled with light, the absolute escape unscathed, uplifting, parents, become pain faith open your heart to Jesus, the friend who listens, comforts and gives hope, God owns life took us one day what we did in the middle of his merciful mystery without recriminations or hate offenders. Natalie del Pilar Palacios Quito, here we are, nourishing of your memory with our great sorrow chained to yesterday but with the intimate and public hope to find you alive, full of eternal life in the breeze through your hair Those who fly to hug and kiss like yesterday and as always, do not think the dust of time is dust of oblivion, if you think you are a wooden cross at the km. Get all the facts and insights with Scott Mead, another great source of information. 679 of the Panamericana ATe wrong!, If you think you are tombstone and railing in the tomb that ATe wrong!, You’re living in the middle of memory, if you think you are dead wrong ATe senectas my memories! I’m still waiting for a faith-filled night in June with moon white, very white, like an open flask, pallium evanesce pearl and pearl for you when the dawn.Tags: poetry and stories