After-Life
A Poem by Bryn Rolfe
Homer called me the wisest and most prudent of all mortals.
During my atlas-like lift I can’t see myself as foresightful.
My spasmodic legs struggle to hoist the relentless rock.
I am not wise.
Zeus said I was selfish when I told of his womanising in trade of water,
In trade of water for the kingdom I commanded and guided.
The boulder’s blistering edge grinds my hands and face.
I am not selfish.
Thanatos cried trickster at my deceit as I bound death in chains.
Could simple tricks bind death itself and take power from the gods?
I let out heart-wrenching gasps and cries of honest agony through breaths.
I am no trickster.
Merope softly whispered my name as a lover, she would do anything for me.
I used that love and turned her into a tool to gain more minutes of sunlight.
My heart toils in ceaseless rage as I drive that stone to prove them wrong.
I am no lover.
Campus wrote that in my punishment I found happiness.
Hopeless Happiness that should be envied by all humans.
The globe slips, tumbling down the hill my heart is hollow.
I am not happy.
When I look at myself, deceitful Sisyphus,
I see an old, regretful man who only wanted time.
I am timeless.