It's in your hands now

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forces us to look

at the beauty in the world

the painful hope

in its futility

a never-ending pattern of hues

nostalgically illuminated

artificially

constantly

never resting in its pursuit

to show you

urging you to look

at all the pain

of the world

the dark needing

the scars, burns

lines broken.

Atlas was spared the weight

noble, heavy, glorious, numbing

for connection never whispered

in his mind

in his heart

incessantly to look

look. look. look.

You must.

what will you do,

now that you’ve looked?

Seen it’s breadth

with their eyes

will you go mad?