Which long had stayed beneath a massive weight.
To heft the heavens blue was long his fate.
To heave and hold, like as a great boulder
The sky. Alone in shadow to smoulder,
Discontent, beholden to sickly hate,
The mighty Atlas sought freedom of late
Before the flame of his life grew colder.
The burden is not of the clouds and sky.
It lies between the giant’s furrowed brow,
Behind his eyes, encased in mile thick bone,
There is a question too hardy to die
The answer which he’d like dearly to know:
Which sin is it for which gods must atone?