Oh, Atlas, with your shaking hands
With your slipping fingers and bloodied palms
Scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the world
When will you let go?
What has the world ever done for you?
They haven't lifted a finger for you.
Oh, Atlas with your heavy shoulders
With your bowed heads and lowered eyes
Beaten down by the world itself
When will you stand up?
What have they done more than tear you down?
They will never have the strength you have.
Oh, Atlas, with your scorned name
With your pitied looks and mocking laughter
The only memories left after an eternity condemned
When will you reclaim your name?
What will they call you if you own yourself?
They will come to fear your name.
Oh, Atlas, how it feels to be free.
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Author:
Atlas (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 15th, 2023 12:14
- Comment from author about the poem: The greek myth of Atlas has always held my interest, and I think it's a very good example of mental illness. Feeling like the world is on your shoulders, struggling to stand up and keep going while holding the burden of everything you're dealing with. And the world often just keeps on turning, and you just have to keep going.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 12
Offline)
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