The Trident

In the frozen ice capped

Mountains high above Valgur

The three ice cold tips

Of the mighty spear are formed

Glistening brightly on the

Shoulders of the hillside

With each rising sun

They are warmed

On separate crests they weave

Seamlessly binding as one

With the tines of the spear

The infant forks of Poseidon

Winding on their stem unnoticed

Unheralded in their existence

Save for beasts that they nourish

Whose lives they forever brighten

Where the forks meet they converge

And their strength becomes pooled

Harnessed power in triplicate moving

As one channelled in motion

Villagers bow in their presence

Vowing fealty to all that they bring

As their tines are pitched in the meadow

They proffer undying devotion

Bound as they are to the staff

Tines power transferred to the hilt

Where it drives forward with every stride

Giving nurture to all that it meets

Harnessing nature’s resources

Poseidon’s symbol of life weaves its way

Crashing into the lap of it’s god

The Trident its father it greets

© Fergus Martin

2012