Forum Moderators: wheatpenny, Wolfenshire
Writers F.A.Q (Last Updated: 2024 Nov 29 6:28 am)
This site uses cookies to deliver the best experience. Our own cookies make user accounts and other features possible. Third-party cookies are used to display relevant ads and to analyze how Renderosity is used. By using our site, you acknowledge that you have read and understood our Terms of Service, including our Cookie Policy and our Privacy Policy.
Generations past. Funny, How the pages dissolve in the damp time, And the ink washes off the writers breath: When the Dust of Ages Falls gently from our marching shoulders; To fall peacefully, As if without regrets, And Fills our treaded foot-tracks. These marks have barely time to exist. No records are left behind Beyond the dead silence of our brief memories. We walk blindly backwards, like beggars, Refusing to see what lies ahead. Our futures, behind us. Our pasts never straying our myopic sight. Not too many steps, then, Lie in the merging lines, We confuse remembrance with ignorance and still we stumble forward. Ian F. Brillembourg