Atlas

I’ve carried the world on my head,
Around the sun year after year.
Those who pass laugh at the sight,
All too glad that they're not me.
Even Sisyphus can look forward;

My look's ever down into space.

He’d rest when the boulder fell,

But for me there’s no reprieve.

I too would drop the world,

And have it fall into the sun.

But unlike him I can't retrieve it:
All my toil would be for naught.

At last I can hold it no longer,
And fall underneath the weight,
Only to find that all this time,

I've just been standing on my head.