deep, deep in the underworld of my heart,
I hear him laughing. Has he gone mad?
He pushes up, reaches heights then watches the fall
of heavy boulder descending. Push, push again,
again his life is full
of relentless repetition.
My life too is always full of heights,
then stark awareness that I must restart
after each sorrowful descent.
I'd be a fool to turn away, unwilling
to accept this absurd struggle, choosing instead to die,
get crushed by the rock, push no more.
I love my life
sentence, elevating that rock
perhaps accomplishing nothing
except my passion for pushing,
the meaning I give it.
He hasn't gone mad.
He laughs in my heart, at my heart, with my heart.
He's just happy.
( Submitted to Dverse Poets.)