As individuals, we are so meager,
Such insignificance, baseness— you see:
We chortle loftily at titan cedars,
Yet they fall, and death by tree.
.
Believing we are magnanimous,
The cardinal, the ace of spears;
But willows whisper, thus unanimous
Are mortals living upon spheres.
.
We have no say, in ebb and flow,
Yielding to depths of holy sea,
Or do we? Curb of tides forgo—
Still, innards and organs are free.
.
One must imagine Sisyphus happy,
But why, not sad or chagrined?
Our lion enfolds the unhappy,
And his innards rejoice with the wind.
.
He is loose, rebelling the fate
That the Gods so callously threw—
By creating meaning, he dares to dictate
That which Creator made new.
.
How would the stubborn, absurdist hero
Behave upon seeing Moirae?
In chains, he’d laugh from Hades’ window,
His scorn surmounting moray.
