Побежденный, ты - победитель, ясноликий и чистый, как ангел,
Вместе с деревьями ты устремляешься в небо

Жить в каждой на свете руке такова моя доблесть
Существует одна только смерть на земле одиночество
От нежности к ярости от ярости к ясности
Я себя самого создаю и во всем живом преломляюсь
Во всех временах на земле и во всех облаках
Сменяется осенью лето но я остаюсь молодым
Я жил на земле в этом сила моя
Кровь моя воздвигается над пеплом пожарищ моих

Я вернулся! :-)

"Невинный блаженец" © D.G.

Ilaan vanished – and took all the sounds and sources of light along. Only Ilaan remained. Down on his knees, an obedient servant of the Force, just like all those months ago. It spoke to him – and he listened, without saying a word. Out of his silence, the sounds and images appeared, filling the space around them, giving the reality its meaning and weight, just like clean white cloth that gradually becomes heavy with blood when it covers the body.

N/I

"Невинный блаженец" © D.G.

Ilaan vanished – and took all the sounds and sources of light along. Only Ilaan remained. Down on his knees, an obedient servant of the Force, just like all those months ago. It spoke to him – and he listened, without saying a word. Out of his silence, the sounds and images appeared, filling the space around them, giving the reality its meaning and weight, just like clean white cloth that gradually becomes heavy with blood when it covers the body.

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

Wasn't it Oppenheimer who said any man whose mistakes take 10 years to correct is quite the man?

"Невинный блаженец" © D.G.

Ilaan vanished – and took all the sounds and sources of light along. Only Ilaan remained. Down on his knees, an obedient servant of the Force, just like all those months ago. It spoke to him – and he listened, without saying a word. Out of his silence, the sounds and images appeared, filling the space around them, giving the reality its meaning and weight, just like clean white cloth that gradually becomes heavy with blood when it covers the body.

If he was stronger he'd still be alive. He wasn't, so he isn't. That's that. © Clementine, The Walking Dead

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

Fuck strategy! I have a shotgun! ^_^

N/I