Down

     Sisyphus, rising and falling

          like a metronome, the stomp, stomp,

                  stomping of my feet mirroring the thudding

                           of my well-worn heart, the one that foolishly

                                    believes each rise will be the last, that never

                                           again will I suffer the indignity of the plummet

                                                and when I pause long enough to yearn for a dream

                                                      all I can see is a weary body completely unmoving.