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POETRY

Just as it was for Sisyphus,
life for me is this rock.
I take it up and carry it to the very top.
When it falls I go back to searching for it
and, graspiing it in my arms,
I heft it once again.
It is a form of hope.
I think I would have been a sadder man
if I’d never been able to heft a rock
with no more motive than for love.
Carrying it for love to the very top.

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