Sisyphus Dreams

nonet

By R.C. TaylorPublished 2 years ago • Updated 2 years ago • 1 min read

ends always come too soon or too late.

in my dreams I hold a torch and

bare foot on watery floor,

mourning each night, I am

Sisyphus; my task:

seek your face, blown

out like a

candle—

gone.

___

This poem is an entry to Vocal's nonet challenge:

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I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.

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