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."