Exhausted, beat-down and crushed.

His weary face, twisted in pain, ragged and flushed.

The lines on his face enhanced by each wince,

Present from the day he was cursed with this task

And every day since.

His brow furrowed by pressure and dotted with sweat…

Holding vigilant, he hasn’t dropped anything… yet.

Trampled by the redundancy of day to date,

Breaking under the strain of his titanic weight.

Cursed by Hail Zeus…

On show like a man in the stocks,

All day he stands, beaten and mocked.

And I watch, reaching out,

            Wanting to aid,

Fearing that soon, my Atlas’ strength may well fade…

But never will he let me come enough near,

“Leave me,” he says, “leave me stand here.”

Determined to hold it all on his own…

            The weight of the world, all he has known.

Even as knees buckle and his thighs, they do ache;

As his arms seize up, as his back painfully breaks;

Even when his heart grows tired

As though it throbbed in twelve men,

He holds it aloft, embracing his burden.

My mighty Atlas, slowly dropping under it all;

And near in his future, he is sure to fall.

Not even for a moment will he let this thing rest;

He’s determined to hold out as the heart that beats in his chest.

My mighty Atlas, my heart is your load;

Something, it seems, I have cursedly bestowed.

All the problems of this world, you already bear;

Of the weight that heart carried, I was truly unaware.

            I am sorry, dear Atlas. Forgive of this weight;

            The enumerable pressures I gave you that sealed your poor fate.