Aidonian's blog

written by Sannion

Plouton, Deep One, Holder of the Hidden,

Lord of the roots and the uncounted veins,

You who rule not in thunder

But in the weight of what endures.

Beneath the clamor of living feet

Your kingdom waits—

Not empty, not cruel,

But full beyond mortal measure.

All wealth passes through your keeping:

Gold asleep in stone,

Seeds dreaming under frost,

Ancestors gathered like stars beneath the earth.

They call you grim because you do not flatter,

Just because you do not lie.

In your halls, masks fall away,

And every soul is finally its true weight.

Consort of Persephone,

You learned the rhythm of loss and return,

That even the dead may know spring,

And even power may bow to love.

Plouton, Receiver of all journeys,

You do not chase the living—

You wait, patient as bedrock,

Certain as gravity.

Teach us the wisdom of enough,

The dignity of endings,

The richness of what is held,

Not hoarded, not wasted—kept.

Accept this hymn, spoken softly,

Like footsteps on a stone floor.

Hail, Plouton,

Lord of the unseen abundance,

Guardian of the final gate,

Wealth beyond counting,

Depth without fear.