Atlas' Curse

By Tom Miller

How different it is to say that I live

Than it is to say that I have a life.

 

Since my first drawn breath did fill my lungs

Am I burdened with Atlas’ curse;

Branded a slave with my course pre-set

To hold up the sky so that others may

Live, and breathe, and enjoy their fruits,

While I earn not honour but a greater weight.

And prayed that the kind Gods would mend my fate.

 

By the graceful hand of the Gods

Am I blessed with this most generous gift.

To serve a life apart from the rest

And to look on from afar at the mortal world.

To serve in eternal silence for those who know not

What it is to exist beyond the bounds,

Or to remain forever in these solitary grounds.

 

There is no cure, nor God to adjure,

For I was chosen and ‘tis my curse to bear.

Till mortal man draws his final breath;

I give my body and I surrender my soul

In the hope that no others must ever feel

What it is to hold the weight of a world.

So upon my shoulders this sky must stay.

 

How different it is to say that I live

Knowing that never will I have a life.