Sisyphus,
What kind of trick is this?
Always walking uphill,
Always winding the clock,
Always wondering
If?
When?
You call this formation,
But it feels like punishment,
For wasted years and
Wayward thoughts.
Does it ever end?
The struggle, the ardor,
The self-doubt and
Self-surrender?
Weary,
I wander,
Is it giving up
Or reading the signs?
I'm beginning to think
No one ever arrives,
We merely do our best
To survive
Until we die.
Won't you put me out of my
Misery?
Cut off my head
And set me free?
Do you do well to be angry?
I'm not looking for
Redemption,
Just purpose, and
Resolution.
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