Hymn to the Lord and Lady of the Deep

Hymn to the Lord and Lady of the Deep

A Tidal Liturgy for Poseidon and Amphitrite

O Beloveds of the Sounding Tide,

At that trembling edge where horizon dissolves into mystery,
where breath becomes brine and the soul remembers its aqueous origin,
I lift my voice—

not in conquest, but in reverence.

Poseidon!
Neptunus of the cobalt mane,
Ennosigaios—Earth-Shaker,
Bearer of the three-pronged scepter that splits the veil between worlds.

And Amphitrite!
Radiant Consort, Kyanoploiame—She of the Dark Blue Water,
Crowned Queen of the Circling Currents,
Foam-Born Majesty, encircled in coral and nacre,
Keeper of the Deep Calm that balances all tempests—

Receive this praise.

Before there were cities, You were.

Before there were borders, Your tides erased them.

Before we learned to fear, You rolled beneath us—
patient, immense, and dreaming.

O Poseidon, Lord of the Unmastered Blue,

Your breath is the gale that bends the cedar mast to its knees.
Your step is the tremor that awakens the roots of mountains.
Your voice is the cavern-roar echoing through the marrow of the world.

You send white-maned horses racing across the wine-dark waves,
hooves striking sparks upon the swell.

You strike the abyssal plain, and the earth itself answers in thunder.

Yet Your fury is not chaos—it is geometry.

You are the sovereign of vastness,
keeper of trenches where light has never touched,
guardian of pressures that would crush diamonds into dust.

In Your dominion, pride dissolves like chalk in acid.
In Your waters, illusion sinks to the benthic dark.

And beside You—

never shadow, never afterthought,
but equal tide and sovereign grace—

Amphitrite,
Sea-Mother, Pelagic Queen,

She whose hands are sea-worn and gentle,
whose fingers trace calm across the crest of storms,
whose presence is the hush after lightning,
the silvered path across midnight waters,
the deep current beneath the surface rage
that carries the swimmer safely home.

Where He surges, You steady.
Where He thunders, You gather.
Where He shakes the foundations to wake the sleepers,
You cradle what remains in salt-soft arms.

Together You are covenant—
the sacred marriage of Tempest and Tenderness,
Power and Poise,
Depth and Embrace.

You are the rhythm that makes the sea a womb, not a grave.

O Lord and Lady of the Wine-Dark Waters,

You rule not only the oceans without,
but the oceans within—

The tears we hide behind constructed faces.
The grief that swells like spring tide against the ribs.
The joy that crashes, unbidden, against our composure.
The anger that quakes like tectonic plates beneath our carefully built civility.

All of it—Yours.

When we drown in our own emotion,
it is because we have forgotten that the tide answers to You.

When we thrash against the current,
we have forgotten that surrender is not defeat—
it is navigation.

Teach us the rhythm of the waves.
Teach us the humility of sailors
who study the sky before they set sail.

Teach us to read the winds of our own hearts
not with fear, but with holy seamanship.

O Poseidon,

let Your trident part the waters of our confusion.
Strike not to shatter us,
but to awaken the sleeping depths within.

O Amphitrite,

lay Your cool, congenital hand upon the fever of our storms.
Circle us with Your patient, encircling tide.
Make clear the sea before our prow.

When our lives tremble—
be the ground beneath the trembling.

When our plans capsize—
be the buoyancy beneath the wreckage.

When the night is thick and no shore is visible—
be the phosphorescent shimmer
whispering that we are not alone.

For You are not destroyers only—
You are sustainers.

The sea feeds continents.
The currents regulate the breathing of climates.
The tides mark time itself,
pulling at the very blood in our veins
to remind us we are made of salt and ancient water.

In Your depths, life began.
In Your depths, mystery endures.

Let us return You to Your rightful throne—
not as myth remembered faintly,
but as Presence acknowledged fiercely.

Let us pour wine to the waves.
Let us whisper gratitude into the salt wind.
Let us bow our heads at the shoreline
and admit with humble joy:

We are not masters of the sea.
We are guests upon it.

O Poseidon of the Roaring Deep,
O Amphitrite of the Encircling Calm,

Make of our hearts strong vessels,
caulked with courage and hope.

Make of our fear holy awe.
Make of our storms sacred initiation.

And when at last the waters still—
when dawn spills molten gold across quiet swells
and the world breathes out its trouble—

let us stand barefoot in the surf,
salt on our skin, wonder in our eyes,
and know:

The same hands that stirred the tempest
have guided us through it.

Poseidon.
Amphitrite.

May Your tides cleanse us.
May Your depths humble us.
May Your vastness enlarge us.

And may we learn,
wave by faithful wave,
how to sail.

So may it be.