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XLIII

XLIII

Soy victima de una ambición exacerbada, que me da el impulso necesario para levantarme cada vez que caigo. En esta ocasión me armo con un casco de bronce, forjado burdamente, casi carente de artesanía alguna. Nacido del metal crudo.
Mientras los muros estén allí, mi cabeza, y los ideales que la conducen, no cesarán de intentar derribarlos. No llegaré a donde deba llegar, llegaré a donde quiera llegar. Salvajemente dominado, como un corcel de guerra en su última estampida. Sin jinete, sin temor, sin piedad, siempre hacia el frente, hacia el próximo obstáculo, entre fuego y sangre, entre gloria y flaqueza, entre caídos. Seré grande.

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