Sunday, October 29, 2017


The Colossus holds up the sky.
He can't remember for how long 
since he was torn away from a cliffside 
and tortured with chisels 
and propped up 
and consecrated 
and prayed to 
and frozen into place 
by expectations.

The sky looks angrier 
than his unmoving eyes have seen. 
It was a burden 
which his broad shoulders could support; 
now it threatens like an enemy. 
It couples with earth 
to rock him on his pedestal. 

He must uphold. 
He cannot bend. 
If he falls, ashes. 
We all fall down.

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