Sisyphus

I can feel the indentations in the rock

from where my hands have been before

pushing into the surface.

 

The sun punishes me;

sweat trickles down the bridge of my nose, dripping

down into my shadow.

 

I used to crane my neck past the boulder

to see how close I was to the peak.

Now I keep my head down and stare into the abyss.

 

Time has lost its meaning.

There is no yesterday, today, or tomorrow.

Just the beginning and the end.

 

I used to count each trek

-have I surpassed a thousand, or am I still in double digits?

Infinity treats all constants the same.

 

To give everything and get nothing back.

To reap and not sow.

Over and over.

 

Lost in the desert,

sand as far as the eye can see.

Knowing there is no oasis.


I reach the top, but

there is no closure or resolution. The boulder rolls back,

and I watch gravity erase what I wrote.

 

My hands find their place. Again,

I start what I will never finish. 

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