on Sisyphus in the teeth of futility
I know the stone will fall.
I know the slope will not forgive.
Each ascent is already erased,
yet it is mine—
the weight, the sweat, the rhythm of refusal.
Do not pity me.
The gods gave me repetition,
but they could not touch my laughter.
In the pause, walking back down,
I taste the air sharper than any victory.
Happiness is not in the summit,
but in the push,
in the stubborn heartbeat that says:
I am here,
I am alive,
and I will shoulder this absurd crown again.
Poetry by anonface
Read 13 times
Written on 2025-10-18 at 02:22
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fragment on the hill
I know the stone will fall.
I know the slope will not forgive.
Each ascent is already erased,
yet it is mine—
the weight, the sweat, the rhythm of refusal.
Do not pity me.
The gods gave me repetition,
but they could not touch my laughter.
In the pause, walking back down,
I taste the air sharper than any victory.
Happiness is not in the summit,
but in the push,
in the stubborn heartbeat that says:
I am here,
I am alive,
and I will shoulder this absurd crown again.
Poetry by anonface
Read 13 times
Written on 2025-10-18 at 02:22
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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