sábado, 4 de maio de 2013

Prologue, the Poetry of the Lost Guy in your Attic.


 The candle flame lit carrying my nook. ...
'd Given up hope that any soul could appear here.
But appeared.
 The light was shy and did not hit me, even though I saw her,
and it was amusing to note his startled to see me.

 Approach. Allow me to introduce for who you are, only you will know.
So how do I know who you are.
 Sit. ... I congratulate you for having given up on getting your whole life
in front of some electronic device, and will look something as bucolic
as hearing stories around a campfire.
Who knows the places that lead us.

 If you need a name, call Lúmrill.
And if you question me,
comes from the purity of my will,
 means something like butterfly.
But it is more akin to "transformation".
Have it your way.

 I'll take you to a different world in the stories,
 a place to learn how to understand the reality,
 because the pain teaches you that the reality lives in a more
surreal world, as opposed to what reason tells us.

 Childhood is full of life, and command over our lives today that our little desires.
The only way to become an adult is to look for our toddler times where we want to be taller and do some good things in life
that as a child can not.
We become adults to realize that our lives are cruel,
riddled with problems and unpleasant relationships with people.
To love or to work. ... My dear (a), there is an adult.
You were always a bright star, shining all the time.
But, what happens to its light can not illuminate me?
Ah, to become a person
I like obscure: it will pay a price, to learn how deep
is life and all its mysteries.
I will teach you some problems of their false reality.
I am ... just another storyteller. But I'm different.
I am the beauty of words, images and sounds.
The smell that you will need for some time.
I hope that their intelligence is greater than mine. ...
 All because we do not read all the fairy tales of life.

This is Awesome!

I'm happy about it! :D