A Sisyphean Life
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!)
If not happiness?
A reason to live?
A reason to die?
Though our Hero may
Strive for life—however fruitless,
Must Death remain a
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.