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A Sisyphean Life

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.



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