Dear Sisyphus,
thank you for showing me
just how ridiculous
I am with my inability
to admit I’m beaten,
even after all the tortoises
have finished the race
and are hoisting
their well-deserved pints,
toasting their glossy publications.
This persistence is no virtue,
this continuing to write poem
after dreadful poem:
it’s just habit.
What else is there to do,
but push that stone?
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This made me smile. I know exactly how you feel. Keep poeming.
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