………………………………..
Kneeling to its dignity the fortress.
The great stones, once lifting the pride high up,
in ruins stay humiliated down,
cyclopean supposedly, calamities of old years,
in decay’s silver under the shining sun,
golden in memory’s epics, in their mighty luck.
Eyes of Hades darkly black, blind *
gazing with envy the olive groves
flourishing still, superior of the mortal’s fate. *
Calligraphic eyebrow stone lonely sickle *
silent and alone watches permanently the glazing sea.
Without the head of Roar
the gemini Lintel’s lions, *
stoppers seals
of primal brilliant centuries.
The boulders of the Gate!
There, strengthening the price of the memory. *
Plein of our hybris
gaping the stone royal shrouds *
in the Death’s circular gardens. *
Upon the same cistern waters your idol *
beside bloody royal idols,
central figures of the great myths, *
reads the questions in his own eyes:
Blood the price of greatness!
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