“The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”--Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus
Could it be that the absurd, daily grind
Has real and tangible significance?
In mundane drudgery, what can we find
With which to build, with life, a hot romance?
What if the boulders that we all must push
Up mountains real or metaphorical
Can, from an oblique angle, make us blush?
What mere stone can speak like an oracle?
We are accustomed to loving hard rock
And rolling, boulders do make music rough;
Stone can be beautiful; we should not mock
Its symmetries and cracks--they are enough
To make us love our burdens, familiar
And find in them a primitive allure
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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