World Poem by R E Mason

I see the harvest washing through the field,
Papered husk of old hag's face,
Disguising its heart of gold.
I see the skylarks circle overhead without purpose or care,
Pleasured by the breeze beneath their wings.
I see each tree seperate, unique,
Characterised by their own expression,
Each leaf a life alone,
Trunks twisted and gnarled as bittered souls.
I see evil amongst this seamless world,
For even in the peace of beauty I feel pain.
For i am unable to ignore,
For I am Atlas,
As I am forced to bear this weighted agony upon my shoulders.
My back grows weak, my head aches,
But it is my heart that is forever heavy.
What is my crime? I ask, my eyes towards the sky,
Hoping for an answer,
From I know not what,
For I care no longer.
Why must I suffer my pain and others too?
The answer comes,
For this world is too harsh for souls such as I,
For I am too weak.