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Bathed in the slumberous sunlight,
Cut my wrist, the thoughts ignite.
Vessels intertwine with roots,
Entwined by a loop–
Sisyphus and his stone.
Bees trace the infinity
For a Queen they’ve never seen.
Dandelions that bloom in Spring
Are willing to wither for a fling–
Sisyphus’s timeless pushing.
The sanguine spring, the absurd spring.
Winter just passed returns, unending.
Why are the creatures still hustling?
If they are bound to be nothing–
Sisyphus’s grand refusal.
Choosing suicide or religion
Is one form of reaction.
Oriole reveals a third path,
Hum for nihil, scorn all meaning–
Long live Sisyphus and his stone.