O silent sovereign, veiled in shade,
Where tides of fate and echoes fade.
Thy halls stretch wide, beyond the sight,
A realm untouched by mortal light.

Thou reign’st where rivers twist and moan,
Where Styx and Lethe carve their throne.
Acheron weeps its sorrowed dirge,
While Cocytus wails at reason’s verge.

Erebus coils in solemn dread,
Where nameless shades in whispers tread.
Yet within thy measured hands,
The restless find their journey’s end.

O iron-crowned, O dusk-clad king,
With wisdom vast and fate’s sure wing,
Thy throne of shadow holds no wane,
Its weight as firm as time’s domain.

The Fates do weave, yet thou dost hold
The final thread with fingers cold.
No cry nor plea, nor desperate moan,
Can twist thy law or shake thy throne.

Dark-cloaked queen with pomegranate stain,
Beside thee walks, yet none in chain.
Persephone, the dusk, the dawn,
Through silvered halls, where myths are drawn.

Cerberus waits with burning eyes,
A guardian where the starlight dies.
His fangs like fire, his breath like storm,
Yet bends beneath thy measured form.

Thine is the balance, stern yet grand,
No chaos sways thy sovereign hand.
For death is but a door unsealed,
A path beyond the world revealed.

Yet still they fear thy solemn call,
The hush that claims both great and small.
But thou dost whisper, calm and sure,
That none shall wander lost, unsure.

O sovereign still, beyond the veil,
Thy rule unbent, thy throne unveiled.
Through dust and fate, through night and shade,
Thou art the keeper—never swayed.