It's no wonder Zeus gave Atlas the sky as a burden.
To hold her up is to carry every soul in one life time,
And Atlas is still breathing.
She carries the sun and the moon with her. She carries wind and lightning. She holds all of the clouds softly in her arms and the rain will fall when she sobs - when she squeezes the clouds too tightly.
It's no wonder Zeus gave Atlas the sky as a burden.
He called me the sky, once. And now I fully understand why I was given that comparison and why I always said he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Because it fits.
Because he screamed constantly that I was too much to carry, but he never let his arms give out. He blamed me for the pain when it was his own doing that earned him this position. Told me that though my sunsets are beautiful, the amount of uncontrollable rage I have within me is too much. Told me I'm stuck painting rainbows but truth is, I'm still trying to squeeze the red out.
I screech at my Atlas in hurricanes to just let me the fuck go and he shakes his head no. Hot tears mixed with sweat slide off his flushed face in agony and regret.
He looks up at me determined.
"I won't let you go."
I tell him it won't be easy. That he needs to lift with his knees not his back but he doesn't listen - he can only focus on not letting me collapse on them all.
I destroy with lightning. My thunder echoes as an after math of no one but my voice screaming back.
He is only focused on holding me, and I've never felt so lonely.
It's only a matter of time before Atlas lets his knees give out.
YOU ARE READING
The Swallows and the Sunsets
PoetryI tend to find meanings in things not intended to have one.
