The Death of Atmo
A sphere spins in the cold abyss,
So cold that air does not exist.
Around this sphere, Atmo gave life
To everything that lived inside.
Atmo encircled this blue dot
Like a bubble, easy to pop.
Atmo was not adamantine
But made of vapour, thin and fine.
Some on the sphere did not believe
Atmo was a living thing.
She could die like all else
When poisoned by gas and smothered in filth.
Atmo died a slow, long death,
And the life she gave struggled for breath.
A sphere spins in the cold abyss,
So cold that air does not exist.