It’s a constant preoccupation: whether we’re living up to our promise
Those middle-of-the-night reflective assessments of the promises you made to yourself
And wondering, perhaps praying for the promise of another day
Why do we celebrate those who succeed, yet we look over those who continue to try,
those who continue to believe in their promise?
What’s the difference between a salty mariner and a dung beetle?
An adventuresome hero or the toiling Everyman?
Both roles suitably casted for me (really, for everyone)
And the seconds and minutes and hours of the day
are counted off to give meaning as I make a stand and
shoulder the weight of those promises I have whispered to myself
nearly each and every night
Sisyphus is a hero because he readily shoulders his burden each day
knowing he will not fulfill his promise by sunset; and so,
I’m trying to determine whether I’m tossing on open seas or sifting in a sandbox
Whether I’m smiling at a foreboding horizon or obsessively rolling my shit?
Which is it: a tragic figure
Or the hero of my own comedy?
Is it steely determination
Or quiet desperation
that overwhelms me at sunrise?
– Chris George