Sisyphus

 

Who knew how steep the path would be?

How every step exacts a cost?

I’ll not solicit sympathy

for we each carry our own loss.

 

Like Sisyphus we climb that hill

along a slow and winding path;

the boulder rolls before us still

cruel penance from a god who laughs.

 

So accustomed we’ve become

of so much loss, so little gained…

our limbs grow tired, our body numb

while acclimating to the pain.

 

We cannot dwell on might-have-beens

in lieu of all we’ve known and seen;

the hour grows late still we contend

the endless torment of this dream.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023