I hold a small world on my classic physique, with my fortitude.
Holding up this bridge and pathway, doesn’t matter my attitude,
For it’s one of being cursed in marble, and accepting my sorrowful lot,
Having made the mistakes I’ve made, the gods left me to rot.
Pondering the beach, as Atlas pondered and beheld the heaven’s light rays,
I bend my head, and think of the day, and to gods beyond Zeus I pray,
Release me from my prison, veins of liquid blood congealed.
My stone figure, muscled, and taught; made to endure forever, concealed.
Bracing myself on stone, solid rock, muscles strained, no thought, and no slipping,
Not even able to see my own face cringing, the expression rain is chipping,
My own little world on my back, I hold my personal pain; I hold your fate.
For mine’s an eternity braced as I am, scanning earths children; nothing to do but wait.
Word Count: 154 words
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