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The Remembrance of the Future by Garat Mathieu
I am a shadow, and in my eyes burn the beautiful old times, the hearth of my eyelids is the trestle where the soul is rooted that I devour. Here's the swamp where I place before you on sickle of my ugly word the weight of mystical rhymes : I am the death of one who claims to have the courage to read worse than the orbits of a beheaded.
Approach that sees me break the face of his last hour, the light of the needle indicating the time of void that he had not to foresee. My name does not matter, you ask me to give a clue that I would leave at random, the simplest and most fade before your eyes petrified: Mournn. I am the servant of His Majesty the stone ossicle, you name it Death because it reminds you of a grave, a vase, a hole, a memory. Yes I finally revealed ! When you drown under the bridge-Torrent engulfing entire life, I appear to His command, yelling to the address of the cosmic lights sentence and punishment for your crime. Causes matter to us. You become statues while eternity release your clothes, because the truth is that no one face to her or me deserves immortal throne erected once erected in honor of the hero. You are no longer gods or kings, but now man or woman endless flesh condemned, you disappear under my billhook, and under the thunders of our storms you blow up in thoughts, kind of crackling stars useless!
But me, Mournn, what I have seen around in other places and other times, I have broken it for a challenge to the ossicle.
"I've been a man of destiny could have been. " I screamed at the gate of the day, it was the better defy, trampling the gray garden of his palace.
Alas! As he roared with laughter. Her claw darted a ray on my words because he knew my most powerful weapon locked in the rate of each my crying syllables! Immediately I lost the sense of the word, and the powerful sorcerer that I was, was becoming a ghost, a sheet agitating little charms in sinister sounds, an actor without reason. Yes! I had my reward for the revolt : I'm haunting your dreams as a putrid a mummy voodoo, a Lich!
Why have sought the Great Smudge as you call while you ignore its absolute fear ? Because I held a sword that I developed with my miserable work, I thought my creation in the secret of a forge fueled by the sun of his nightmares, your crimes and abominations, here in the chimney of the palace that I had so many times surveyed as lackey ... oh! rather ! it is all finished !
Who mightier than I can blast my wings yet? Person. Read these words, also the Remembrance of the Future is better established in a more extensive work, you will enjoy when I get out of my torpor.
"Life is a night that never illuminates, a child who pops up in a flash and dies! Create light and having seen only the shadow ... Now a dawn rises over the tomb of the world, where you meditate tomorrow other futures, dreams that you'll raise are stones even deeper! '