a freestyle sonnet about Sisyphus flipping the script

Probably best practice to keep your bindle light, 
as this world pretends to be far heavier than 
it really is; unreal expectations ghostwrite 
failure. Attempting to remain a simple man 

amidst a maze of complications is work worth 
doing (which I don’t say all that often). All needs 
are easily provided when treading the Earth 
lightheartedly, scattering good nature like seeds. 

Picture Sisyphus pushing a feather instead 
of stone, all his failure demons told to go home; 
civilized progress is a blaspheme breeding dread. 
A hewn man’s thoughts and feet were always meant to roam, 

but we staked claims to whole world, which became confines 
while navigating these empirical declines.