It ain’t heavy it’s my boulder

One must imagine Sisyphus’s boulder, marble-sized these days And Ozymandias’ plaque, still spinning despair into praise Look on, ye hypocrites, and sneer at my undoing Your universe is a giant sandpit, entropy accruing Their legacies long crumbled, eroded by rust Gods built the wrong way, on scaffolds of dust Virtue or vice register equally the same Except between stars, there’s space for one more grain Down here, we clock in daily, stack hours like prayer Worship strong Wi-Fi, evangelize on thin air Imagine heavenly echoes, because the silence isn’t fair Some develop connection, others a thousand-yard stare Our Earth splits naturally, along seismic lines Greenwich claims centre stage, only for the meantime Sisyphus, still aching, gets an epidural at last But only in hindsight, for his hump blocks the past Redrawn are our own lines, watchtowers in the sand Sketching new borders, carving up the promised land Exhume ancient treasure, and black, viscous stuff Addicted to all things buried, as if our dead weren’t enough Still we write blindly, tracing glyphs already faded Helps lift the mood when depressed and jaded Gods stand on shaky ground, myth holds them together In schisms that bind billions, then sever forever Oh, look on—ye poet Sisyphus now rolls his eyes He’s seen the apps, wars, hoodies, and cable ties His hamster wheel’s a meme for gods who merely try Small wonder he mutters, at least Ozymandias gets to die And sometimes I pray to gods, or maybe their ghosts About versions of me I’ve been missing the most They don’t directly answer, but do leave this guess In the end, to keep on rolling may be my passing success By David Kavanagh