Sisyphus

That last incline is the hardest
(with the possible exception of the first).
The scree skitters underneath, feet slip,
the bursting heart is apoplectic,
sinews rip, muscles tear,
the ground groans in crushing agony.
I heave the bone-breaking stone,
shifting for footholds, rasping callused hands,
boiling blood seeps through sores.
I bellow and roar to heaven,
frothing my fury with bulbous eyes
till the mountainous boulder quakes the earth,
rolls against gravity, mounts the summit
with final grudging grind and crunch.

And then I step aside and laugh
to see the snow-balling stone hurtle downwards,
avalanching with mocking ease,
crashing down in thunderous descent,
over-turning all intent -
a snapped runaway, absurdly indifferent
to my meaningless uphill struggle.
So I start down again and again,
re-tracing the inescapable path.
I am bound to eternity;
stars burn and die;
the heavens roll with my ageless rock.
I grin before I groan,
hug my hopeless burden with forgetful purpose.