idle fools and lost souls float on by 
the voices of the damned give commentary 
while mute spectres look hopelessly on
 
and I push my rock uphill 

broken language, disjointed comments 
and fragmented criticism bite to the bone 
and get their teeth in, teething 

and I push further uphill 

this seven-ringed circus of horrible clowns 
ever topples over leaving true bedlam 
and an endless pandemonium of crying 

I approach the top 

now without purpose or goal 
breathless, sucked dry of thin air 
the future futile, empty and hollow 

at the top I stand 

a fleeting moment’s relief from effort 
then follow the rolling rock 
descend back into the shades 

For Camus

First published in Selection 2018.