Literature / Poetry

An Excerpt: Aetas

Prometheus awoke. The sky was covered in deathly overcast gray clouds; there were raindrops that sprinkled from the heavens and did not touch the ground; the air was cold and crisp, yet possessed no scent; a blanket of mist and fog rested upon the land, yet obscured no vision; the willowing of the wind could be felt across the skin, and yet made no sound. There was a small river by which Prometheus had lain; it sat perfectly still, yet curiously had flow; the ground was of a gray, soft sand that held no texture and possessed no weight; there were not rocks on the earth, nor birds in the sky; there were not weeds in the ground, nor trees in the far; there appeared no Sun to cast light, and yet it was day.

Prometheus stood, bare-naked and of a superior height; broad, firm shoulders and strong, muscular legs; a skin not of complexion, yet not of rough or grainy feel; black crew-cut hair and small, reserved ears; a moderate nose, serious puffy lips, cheekbones of perfection, a neutral chin without flaw or hair; the archetype of a man.

Save for his eyes; pupils as dark as night, and retinas as red as blood; his gaze and firm eyebrows possessed a powerful, almost furious look; there were eyes that had seen lifetimes, and yet had not gazed upon a day; they were the eyes of a child, teenager, and elderly man all at the same moment; they were eyes of emotion and passion, peace and ambition; they were the eyes of no man.

There was frost in his breath, and yet Prometheus felt no cold. He examined his surroundings, finding not life or activity; he strolled slowly to the side of the river calmly beckoning to him; he took his small, plump toes and dipped his feet within the water. Ripples radiated across the surface and slowly reversed back to their origin; the water was a glowing warm sensation, exhilarating and soothing. Prometheus retracted his feet from the river, his toes possessing no moisture. His feet did not dirty or foul from the earth beneath; Prometheus scooped up a clump of dirt within his veined, manly hands; his fingers retained not dirt or texture.

Prometheus gazed down the land where the serpent river flowed; small hills and dunes rolled up and down the landscape; Prometheus began to follow the river’s path, not knowing what lay in the distance.