Guilt Poem by Monos Unalos

You stone of fire smoldered in the kiln
Of conscience, where a blacksmith cranks and storms
And crafts for every movement of the will
A correspondingly metallic form.
Where is the man unconscious of your weight,
Who on the earth has never felt the scourge
That emanates from your embroiled state
Just like the thunderbolts from Zeus’ forge?
Oh gnawing in the center of the heart,
You cancer plunging roots throughout the brain,
Metastasizing in the vital parts:
A tree of darkness - fruit of the insane.
Cursed Sisyphus knew every single feature
That qualifies your form, you gravest teacher