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 that since has passed, yet persists the bolting trident,
From the depths of the Atlantic sea,
Pierced the cursive waves, beyond the sky
And beyond the glass held
By the brittle trees
Still the waves of light, rush from Mount Olympus,
Fogged from the skies foam, struck the secluded dome
That was the domain of Atlantis
In retaliation, a trident of forking waters
Raked the formidable mountain, and left
A great scar from its summit, to the lowest pit