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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.

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