Tired, exhausted, spent.

Atlas fails, his shoulders relax,

the mighty stone slips,

and goes tumbling.

 

It scratches the land,

denting the mountains,

before crashing into western sea.

 

He stands there trembling,

covering his head.

 

–

 

He waits a day. 

But the sky isn’t falling.

 

Liars! he sneers,

stretching his ruined arms upwards.

 

He treads down to the desert city

excited to start his life anew.

But where it once stood,

he only finds sand

 

He goes north,

but there is only sand.

 

So he turns and goes south

But there is only sand.

 

His eyes scan the horizon,

but everywhere, there is only sand.

 

He staggers, cries,

curses the gods.

But the sky isn’t weeping.

 

The dry wind

heckles him relentlessly, 

conducting the sand into

a cruel symphony.

 

Determined to find

the world he once loved,

he searches.

 

At last, he finds a city,

hoping to end his life

without illusion.

 

He enters the gates,

but only finds buildings built

at strange angles, people

spitting sounds he

cannot comprehend.

 

So Atlas flees,

he desperately tries to find

that world he knew,

but that is buried beneath the sand.

 

The world has moved on,

casting those who did not run after her

into nothing.

 

In the end,

there is only sand

piling at the bottom of

the hourglass. 

 

———————

 

Itself it is worthless,

oh, but don’t dare despair!

What will you conjure with it?