Friday, October 17, 2008

Sonnet 7: A Song for Atlas, not Alone


Sweat trickles down his face, as faltering

He steadies once again his tired arms

And thinks back to that day's dark succoring

When first he was betrayed by horrid charms.


In ten years' war with virile did contend

Impious rule against which to prevail

The works of gods he mightily must rend

That delicately thus, he locks to fail.


Yet stumbling, allured by dainty worth:

How fallen art! Where naught can thus assuage

Without support to stand midst sky and earth:

Supplanter of the sun, a man of Rage.


       Tho' staggering, he groans under the weight

       But burden bears and shrugs not his due fate.


Copyright © 2008 by Layne Cockcroft

All Rights Reserved

1 comment:

Carrie said...

As an avid fan of your poetry, I want to request more. It's been too long since I've got to read a new one. :)