I can't rely on the seasons for my mind to change.
Atlas continues to hold up the weight of the sky with hot tears streaming down his face and guttural screams that shake the clouds.
How much longer until his arms go numb and the pain is nothing but shivers?
How much longer until his elbows snap back and the sky collides with us all?
YOU ARE READING
The Swallows and the Sunsets
PoetryI tend to find meanings in things not intended to have one.
