Inspired by Albert Camus' essay on the myth of Sisyphus.
Again he lifts the boulder. He's particular:
eyes down, face tense, cheek tight against the stone,
foot firmly wedged, arms straining, then a groan,
and Sisyphus's route turns perpendicular.
With measured step he heaves towards the pinnacle
-- last week he faltered, tripped and lost his stride,
then stubbed his toe and managed to collide
against his stone. Such blunders make him cynical.
And then the top is reached. The view's spectacular.
For just a moment life is not mundane,
but then he sees his rock roll to the plain.
"Damn gods!" he swears, in ancient Greek vernacular.
But what to think of during his descent
-- that, and that alone, is his torment.