A song never sung goes to Poseidon Mousêgetês,
for memory flees and with it, this name.
Leader of Muses before they gave beauty voice,
guardian of the soft heart that through poetry, weeps.
When the brothers divided the sky from the land,
and each took a portion, his own to command,
dark Haides withdrew to the places unseen,
while above came the throne of Zeus Celestine.
Sea from sky, earth from under,
divisions were clear,
but for those bright spirits
not of this world, but near.
Some flocked to Haides, of money and death.
To Zeus clove spirits of justice and breath.
And closest to the lands that mortals eyes beheld
were the daimones of beauty enfolded in hard shells.
So precious did he find them,
these daimones, bright and pure,
that Poseidon loathed to risk them
near his sacred, rocky shores.
In time, the young god knew
that this world was yet unborn
as he watched the first men’s races,
lived not with love, but scorn.
With each new god that came
to add richness to the world,
Poseidon let the shells dissolve
until beauty was unfurled.
And into that potential
did his brother in the sky
seek several kind goddesses
with which, in time, to lie.
Mousêgetês is not your name
for those maidens were unknown
until you freed potential
so that artist could carve stone.