I am your personal Atlas,
Holding up your entire world,
The weight of your burdens,
The onus that drives you to tears
And sends you reaching for escape;
But never do I mind,
Because I cherish this world
You have thrust upon me,
Entrusted to me to protect
And keep moving every second.
Am I your personal Atlas?
I feel you pulling away,
Slipping from my grip,
Soon to roll away from this—
Onto the back of another,
Or perhaps in your own orbit,
Free and unsupported
While I outlive my purpose
And stare in awe.
I am still your personal Atlas,
Lifting you up as you fall again,
Weighed down by your world’s pollution;
The inhabitants of your lands
Have ripped you apart, desecrated you,
But still I am here to hold you up,
Never crushing you myself,
Never using this position as leverage
To take possession of your beauty
Or hold you down from your potential.
I was your personal Atlas,
But I am he no longer,
Replaced by another,
Or perhaps substituted for open space.
You circle your own source of light,
Rotating from light to darkness,
But in both states, breathtaking;
In the shadow of Tartarus I watch,
As you drift, guided by the pull of your light,
No longer requiring my support, my anchor.