Six Poem by Lora Cooley

Condemned to the top of a mountain
There is nothing told to us about the myths made fro imagination
As for this myth told a hundred times over
The human security of two earth-clotted hands at the very end
When purpose is achieved
Sisyphus interests me
A face that toils so close to stone is stone itself
A torment that he will never know the end of
Like a brething space
that gradually sinks towards the gods
Superior to fate
Tragic only at the moments when it becomes conscious
There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn
Take joy when the images of earth cling
too tightly to memory
The only bond linking the world is the cool hand of a girl
All is well
Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein
His fate belongs to him