All is placid now,
For the drowsy dawn
Has risen
From the phantasmal ashes
Of twilight's untamed musings,
And blazes in ethereal colors,
Just before me.
I might reach out
And touch it,
Were I ignorant
Of its inevitable approach. I am resurrected
From my infertile slumber
And my vague, fantastic dreamings.
To bear again,
The truth,
My volatile humors,
And the heavy wait
Of my salvation.
I am Sisyphus;
I command the hand of god.