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They came to be because birth
brought forth the creation
of our passion.
We gave them the names;
we gave them the locks and braids;
we neglected the un-kept, starved brains.
Behold ‘the children of Sisyphus’!
Roaming up and down empty halls of life;
chasing pipe dreams decaying into nightmares.
Behold ‘the children of Sisyphus’!
Unknown and not knowing
who and whose they are.
Their eyes burn at the sight
of the written word;
at its sound, ears ring
with an impulse of migraine pain;
and in the mystic void,
lingering brains discover atrophy.
Once more the mountaintop
towers in the distance.
Again voices of ancestors
echo in the winds.
Again the stagnant ones
resist the yeast of life;
unable to rise and soar over the chasm
widening between the generations.
Behold ‘the children of Sisyphus’!
These are the unleavened minds
we sages must mead with the yeast of hope.
