Up-hill Half the Way

So you’ve lived a limited
Existence, always a small
Person, mostly in rented

Rooms. Cast your thoughts through your years,
And it’s hard to find times
When you were too promising.

Here and there, you flirted with
The margins of real success,
But you lapsed, little beetle,

Tumbling head over thorax
Down the heap of the dung hill
That grows faster than you can

Eat your way through specks of it.
Scramble, little Sisyphus.
Climb back with the rest of us.