Archive
07/23/09 - (2)
Atlas
One wholly improbable twilight, A guy I knew only slightly more than in passing, Who just happened to go by my same name, Fell off the map or, perhaps more accurately stated, Allowed the map of the world he shouldered to fall off his back.
Deciding to take his life should have been enough, but it wasn't, For the man who, like me, called himself Atlas. He didn't seem satisfied with dying quietly, modestly, alone. He had to make a cataclysmic scene, Let humanity know who was truly in charge of things,
Bring civilization to its knees, with unmerciful celerity, A thrust of malevolence, misanthropy, hostility, cruelty So heinous as to render Satan, Draco, Attila, Hitler Puny, craven yahoos, by all comparisons. And he succeeded, beyond his most ambitious expectations,
No matter that the obliteration of planet Earth — Billions of people sucked into his ravenous black hole — Canceled his own meager chances, in the silent bidding Not only on life eternal, life everlasting, But even on another decade or two, at least, of mortality.
What motivated him to jettison Earth was massive unhappiness, A vast sorrow that had descended over him, When the woman he'd cherished way too deeply Rebuffed him, to pursue her self-centered independence. She caused the whole world to disappear.
07/23/09 - (2)
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