Here I am condemned to death; unfortunately no, rather it is pain that has been sewn. I stand up and brush away the dirt, the sword of time begins to flirt in pushing me forward still.

Here lies the hurdle or is it the monument to my defeat? I push it onward still not wishing to be beat.

My hands ever so tattered, calloused and raw yet they still catch me if I begin to fall. Breath in breath out I mutter and send curses loud. I've moved it now so much further but there's nobody to be proud.

The grade is slowly gaining and gravity works it's might. I wish to make the horizon before day gives in to night.

My muscles ache from driving and from pushing on, my mind gives its best trying to be strong.

Yard by yard I trudge through mud, grass and snow. Nearer and nearer the horizons begins to show.

The bright sun fades to dusk and soon a cool dark night. The stone gives in and I hear another roll away, I look and by my side Sisyphus is bent double wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Close were we friend, come we closer still, if we hurry and get down to the bottom of our hill".

So we hiked down as the moon glow faded away bringing with it the morning sun ushering in the day.

As I began to push pondering mile upon mile I looked to the elder Sisyphus, he just winked and gave me a smile.