Entering the land of men is not uncommon to see the stony hills. If you retract them potran you notice some strange facts. As the world of deceit, in the fields, is dominated by a roaring buzz on the hills do not hear nothing but the whistling of the wind. And while nothing is moving on of them: rock and loneliness are only a few feet high human decadence to be caressed the darkness from the sky. What is this oasis of stillness, which is nestled among the rocks, your strange hill? Question absorbed the young traveler, and an old man replied, from his throne of rock. What you see now is stone tortured by hordes nothing thinking, air and time. But once these stones were ideals that were running free in the streets of the world. There were those who managed to ride them for a good stretch ... died, burned with passion, or fell defeated, but they did so with a smile and were happy with their lives. What remains now? You see yourself, my dear child: we are here to remember old and the rest over there to die.
0 comments:
Post a Comment