Sisyphus and his stone .. .

Pushing the rock up a hill
did not seem as vapid as
it had for twenty years or more 
i was submerged in a pool of
philosophy and yearning

i did not understand 
whatever was expected 
as if anything had been 
expected at all; pushing 
a lifeless shapeless entity

when others emerged out 
of darkness we sat together 
reminiscing of the past:  
victories, nostalgia and regret
uncertain plans for the future

it seemed an absurd venture
i learned to chisel at the rock’s
face, make changes to its shape 
there emerged a likeness to myself 
i soon became dissatisfied with 

each day the rock appeared
a little heavier, more difficult 
to grasp – i took a hammer 
and pummelled it to dust 
gathered in a builder’s sack

i tied the sack with rope to
make a sling and yoked it to 
my back; i dragged the awesome 
bag yet yearned to feel again 
the rasp of rock against my skin

i spoke with the chemist and 
a builder, learned by apothecary
of arts;  burned powder in a
kiln, mixed in my sand and 
a little water: recreated stone.

my new rock was square with 
corners, smooth, and plain
more unwieldy than before
i made a lever for my shoulder 
to move this monolith i’d made

the more i learned of science 
and philosophy the heavier 
my responsibility to the gods 
for the charge they had given
the more i wished not to become a slave

each time the rock hurtled 
back toward the ground it lost
another corner, another edge
i remained determined at my 
duty i would not relent

futility of life and despair 
grew inside me as days passed 
yet i remained happy at my work
catching moments of pure joy
as I wandered down the hill

life seemed soon it might 
end and my rock be left alone 
i had learned to think of others
my rock had turned to bone
flesh of my flesh; dear to me

the day arrived at summit of a 
hill i realised were in fact a cliff
i made my leap of faith into the sea
a hundred leagues below; my rock 
fell back as before and i was free

..

©edenbraytoday15.08.2026