I have memory and awareness,

But I have no shape or form.

As a disembodied spirit,

I am dead and yet unborn.

I have passed into Olympus

As was told in tales of old,

To the city of Immortals,

Marble white and purest gold.



I see the gods in battle rage on high,

Thunderbolts across the sky.

I cannot move, I cannot hide,

I feel a silent scream begin inside.



Then all at once the chaos ceased.

A stillness fell, of sound and peace.

The warriors felt my silent cry

And stayed their struggle, mystified.



Apollo was atonished;

Dionysus thought me mad.

But they heard my story further,

And they wondered, and were sad.



Looking down from Olympus

On a world of doubt and fear,

Its surface splintered

Into sorry Hemispheres.



They sat a while in silence,

Then they turned at last to me.

"We will call you Cygnus,

The god of Balance you shall be."