The Brittle Trees Between Olympus and Atlantis

Blessed boney branches of the brittle trees,

Bestowed are they, the weak and mighty

The strengths of Atlas against seasons of tragedy,

To the sea in the sky, above the atmosphere of glass

That holds in place the war of greed,

A war never to be passed,

Yet persists the bolting trident, From depths of the Atlantic sea,

Pierced the shearing waves, beyond the sky

And beyond the glass held , by the brittle trees

Still the rains of light, rush from Mount Olympus,

Fogged from the skies foam, struck the secluded dome

That was the city of Atlantis;

A trident of waves was a fork of retaliation

That raked the formidable mountain,

And cracked a grave scar, plunging all Olympians

In dark destitution;

The sky a fortress of bleak and grey, the sea a pitfall of blackened whey,

How the trees were triumphant, to hold all away,

From a coalescence of unholy consequence,

And yet they held the sky from falling to the sea today,

The brittle trees, so blessed are they,

To have held the sky and to have distanced the sea,

And to have won the day, and yet these brittle trees sway,

At the soft wind and her sad songs,

And hide in bushes and grass from the throngs,

And yet these trees so brittle, are brave and strong,

To carry Olympus, to divide Atlantis, and still carry on,

And still carry on, and still carry on...