we are all Sisyphus
with our own boulders
.
you my love
are Sisyphus as mother
as teacher
as humbled crumbled
daughter …
.
rolling your bones
like a lover
longing for a cliff
.
when we are lost
or tired, you know …
.
there are times we
must stop to rest
when we let the rock go
hurling along and we
bend low to wash
.
to bow our heads
for a moment
.
to take measure
of our course and recall
that we have been
here before
.
but everything is different
it is not the same river now
the land has changed
we are tired
in different places
having seen things
from the valleys
having stood at times
near the top
..
our rest is
sometimes broken
when the rock
comes
rolling
back.
.
Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.
