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Atlas Telamon

O, what hast Confusion wrought unto me,
And fashion’d upon my shoulders naïve?—
I shall entertain for eternity
This question, encumber’d without reprieve,

For here, betwixt Her embrace with the sky,
I stand at the western edge of Gaia
Spared from a sentence ‘neath Tartarus’ eye;
Not ally, nor traitor—but pariah.

Upon my creas’d brow whence worries assault
My overwrought crimson face to conduct
The heavens turn’d on their axis and vault
My boundless lot: to forever obstruct.

Confusion is a thing that understands
Nary a moment of thought and wonder;
In my heart, in my head—which guides the hands?
Which will hold heaven and earth asunder?—

A mountain I must be to labor ‘neath
A doubt so doubtless heavy to endure;
None that e’er stood so strong upon thy heath
And yet so anxious, troubled and unsure.

O Brothers, I cannot let anger rule,
Nor can I use cunning to mould from clay
The excuses oft employ’d by a fool
Whereupon this profound burden must weigh,

But ‘til my strength fails me, ‘til I’ve crumbled,
I can no longer (with this endeavor
To be granted answers ere I’m humbled)
Pretend I am above it forever.

When the sun wakes me I know I’m still here—
In all her radiance to importune
I bathe with respite and when night is near
We shall watch the stars revolve with the moon.