One must Imagine Sisyphus happy— As he gazes down at the base of His torture, stares into his abyss, his Fate stares back—and he feels the ceaseless piercing Of earthen shale beneath his barren feet—and the fire in his Fibers ignited from his toil, one can only imagine a man who Lives— Rejecting suicide—a man forward-facing Fate—surrendering to the world. One must imagine the Fool Who calls the afterlife of Sisyphus One of meaning— (could anyone define the word at all!) What, then Is Meaning If not happiness? A reason to live? A reason to die? Though our Hero may Strive for life—however fruitless, Must Death remain a Futile endeavor? Cresting that hill— Seizing that window, Filling the goblet of Life to the brim, One must not Imagine a glass And deprive it of drink— Deploring the wine For one day running out.