My Own Thermopylae

My soul stands on a pathway

facing a cliff

protected by a wall.

In the center 
a distant trail opens

made for the heroes to enter,

so the faithful, the words, the muses, love...
It is protected by great warriors

in carmine cloaks.

Are the doors of the soul,

my own Thermopylae.

Inwards is glory,

democracy of just men,

freedom of thought,

the verses of Apollo,

Philippides running,

Terpsichore's flight,

the elucidation of Athena...

Inside is where

wandering ideas are fixated

where the thinking happens.

There is where on a sward of

whirling ocher stars floats

tireless my soul...

Dancers of dreams.

Right there my insides swell

when the world cheers,

where endless oceans of tears are shed

as I see injustice and pain.

Behind the trail

tends eternity before me.

Who can distinguish darkness on the road?

Monotony is exceeded in words

entangled in idle days...

Truth is not dead

nor hope.

No matter how many times other empires

have wanted to conquer,
the basin of my mind oscillates intact.

My heart overflows with such plentitude.

The death of Heracles left his heat in the water,

the land itself is an igneous metaphor...

I'll let you go behind the moon

with a pennant of fireflies...

you will be now the guardian of this site.

Moreover, my own Thermopylae

will no cease to be in danger

of the betrayal of Ephialtes

and the fury of hundreds enraged Medes.