Again, I'm walking somnambulist through the dream; again I've slid through the gateway of the ancient myths. Walk along with the blinded memories of time, without understand neither the absence of fatigue nor the infinite path through which I've walked in this wilderness imagined by another being.
At last, in a moment came out from the eternity's childhood, what I believed was a mirage, redeemer and stimulant, amid all this nothingness, turned out to be an apparition that populated with horrible figures the reigning desolation.
It's a gigantic pendulum, its sphere got inlaid the eye of a Cyclops. I've interrupted its distant dream; its eyelids, closed by thousand of years, lift themselves up slowly, and set my being on fire with their ardent and prophetic glare. In the very moment in which the huge eye gets rid of the iron veil that blinded its terrible gaze, the pendulum starts its hypnotic oscillation. The fire-like gleams, casting down by its iron armor, threaten with the evocation of gloomy ages within the halls of my rapture.
The colossal Cyclops, became stony by a fright that ambushed him in this twilight valley; he stayed erect for all the eternity, as if it were a monstrous phallic symbol. The horrible iron's paws, crushing each one of his muscles, offered him the last sensations. His face shows the cruel liberty that a bristly soul carves in our facial expression to embody the terror. From the empty socket of his single eye, springs the iron bar of which end hangs the enormous sphere. It comes down like a gloomy thunderbolt from the quiet swamps inside clouds wrapped by slime —stuck like ticks on a bloody sky. My eyes, struck by the dizziness, brake through the mist, and shaking, follow the vertical bar in its flashing descend till the silver scorch of the land, on which I'm stand still. I'm paralyzed with fear. I can see my huge reflection on the enormous pupil of the Cyclops' eye. It got bewitched my space and my time; and stops the large migration I imagined undertook my soul when departed from my body.
The eye keeps on moving from the farthest point of the infinity to the one closer to me. It sinks me in dreamy regions and in the chaotic dimension of an embryonic estate, from which rush down the visions of the Cyclops. What a strange doom to stare into his fabulous landscapes pregnant with myths! Millions of gods and heroes frozen in the bottomless abysses of his iris —with their legends drowned in the coagulated blood of numberless sacrifices... beyond of any space-time continuum. At the bottom of the Hades I can see a serpent exciting my soul with dark fantasies; they were before the Alpha and will be beyond the Omega. The pendulum comes again, along with the dark purple of the dawn of a new oscillation. I don't want to stay in this sluggish contemplation; I want to be an active part of an ancient myth!
In the sacred moment in which the huge eye gets suspended before me... I'll plunge in the deep pool of its enslaved time. Here it comes!... What a wonderful Olympus is the blackness of its pupil.
Note: This prose poem belongs to the unpublished book: "Bottomless Tombs".