I dreamt of Sisyphus
smiling dumbly at the bottom of a hill,
leaned against a boulder
twice his size,
ready once again
to push it pointlessly upward,
as he had for every day
since he could last remember.
His smile was broad and peaceful,
knowing now the landscape of his life,
no politics of kingship
or muddled thoughts of power
clouding up his mind,
just stone and hill before him,
once again for labor so prepared,
and laid out again in endless purpose,
clear and ready for all eternity.
I dreamt of Sisyphus,
who pushed that stone forever
and watched it role
back down the hill,
and he,
just like that rolling rock
was certain in his path
along the now familiar lane
and smiled for knowing
where the road would take him
in the otherwise uncertain
march of life.
I dreamt of Sisyphus,
happy in his labored peace,
and then awoke.
My day is directionless and loud,
my tomorrow is unknown,
there is no roadmap of my purpose,
nor hill which I call home.
YOU ARE READING
A Mind's Eye
PoetryA collection of poems grown from myth and mind. Gods, monsters, and mortal men in a variety of poetic forms. Narratives and allegories as deeply rooted in the psyches of modern humanity, as in the civilizations that planted those seeds. Songs from d...
