Atlas

Rocks packed tightly in place,

Held together with longing alone.

The Earth reaches for the sky.

 

He looks down upon her,

her slow but constant struggles,

her outstretched stone cold hands.

 

While blue and wistful, distantly cloudy,

The sky lazily slings his hands down.

Rays of sun whisper hints of unfulfilled promises.

 

Sloth rolls between clouds, but cannot mask

The hints of urgency carried on the wind.

The gentle warmth is of distant yearning.

 

And what lies between but Atlas,

Tossed underneath the sky,

And told to hold him back from her.

 

So the sunlight filters through the trees,

To caress what the sky cannot.

And Atlas stands between, in constant unrest.

 

A vicious connection between the three,

All forced into places they would rather depart.

All impossible tasks that are regretfully shouldered.

 

One reaches downward in hidden desire,

One looks back up in pained resignation,

And one is forced to stand between and watch.