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Sysipus
was filled with woe as the rock tumbled,
Down it fell, with his spirits, his prayer for achievement,
A prayer to the gods with no avail,
A punishment perhaps, for hubris, daring opposition.
A punishment now and forever to force himself against hindrance,
Force himself against gravity, against a great weight bearing
backwards and down,
To force himself and fail, utterly,
Time and time again.
But what masochistic joy does he gain,
Pushing that rock up again,
Believing this time that it will not tumble down,
Crushing against the workings of muscle and flesh,
Only to receive what comes with incompletion,
Actions strived so hard, but rendered inconsequential,
And move himself again.
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