I'd love to hear any of your thoughts or comments regarding my poem or our discussion in this episode. You can email me at [email protected].
Thanks for listening.
And the walls reveal themselves –
tall, strong and immovable.
In the haze and fog,
Which is his daily walk,
Their existence is blurred;
They are forgotten
Though he was there when they were built,
and even added stones.
Now in clarity, he looks to bring them down –
stone by stone.
And so he works relentlessly,
with pick and hammer
As his salty sweat stings his eyes and
His muscles and mind fatigue.
Yet his only yield from this Sisyphean task is
Bloodied palms and frustration,
While the stones remain, one upon the other.
Then slowly and imperceptibly,
(under cover of his exhausted heart and mind)
The fog seeps back again
And hides the stony barricade.
The image used as the cover art and on the header is a painting of Sisyphus by Titian.
(By Titian - , Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3860214)