I screamed, a blend of silence and thunder
fit to shake the world,
to make it remember me.
It remained unmoved, untouched,
Still as the stone it was,
and heavy and hard it pressed me.
Yet still I bore that burden-
the burning weight of nothing
would grind away emotion
leave me flat and formless
In a merciful void, alone.
But this is not my fortune,
for I am an infernal Atlas
and no hero this way wanders
to take from my shoulders
the weight of this world.
And if, wearily, I should win it,
My goal, the peak, the summit,
thinking victory at last would be mine,
What always has happened shall happen again-
A roar, a rumble, and back where I began.
Seeing salvation at the end of the errand,
I'll resume once more my burden
And begin to hope again.