The Brittle Trees Between Olympus and Atlantis

Blessed boney branches of the brittle trees,
Bestowed are they, the weak yet mighty
The strengths of Atlas through seasons tragedies,
To the sea in the sky, above the atmosphere of glass
That holds in place the war of greed,
So unfulfilled, it may never 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, the fork of retaliation,
That raked the formidable mountain,
And cracked a grave scar, plunging Olympians
In dark destitution;
The sky a fortress of bleak and grey, the sea a pitfall of blackened whey,
How the trees were triumphant, none can say,
From a coalescence of unholiness,
And yet they held the sky from falling to the sea today,
The brittle trees, so blessed are they,
To have held the sky, 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, in grass, from the throngs,
And yet these trees so brittle, are brave and strong,
To carry Olympus, to divide Atlantis, and carry on,
And still carry on, and still carry on...