Turning Stones

My arms hurt, my view is blurry, my feet are sore, I’m exhausted.
I’ve been turning stones for as long as I can remember.
With each stone I overturn there is another.
My path gets steeper as the stones get bigger.
Some tumble down from above me, bruising me in their wake
With each overturned stone, I raise my glass in a toast to celebrate.
I can see through the prism of wine and silicon
that my victory is unreal.
Each victory gained is really a loss.
I pretend not to notice and keep on moving
because all stones must be overturned.
Sometimes I trip and fall.
No, many times I trip and fall.
It is very peacful down there on the ground after a fall.
The stumbling stones do not hurt me, I notice darts flying above my head.
I could get used to the smell of fresh earth but no,
I must get back up there to the growing rocks that now tower above me.
From the ground I devise new methods to overturn the rocks.
I arm myself with better tools and faster ways to pull myself up from the dirt.
I get up again, with my new found tools and before I know it, I am back on my feet. Soon I am at a spot which I believe to be the top but it looks a lot like the ground, from which I dug myself out a million rocks ago.
One distinct difference is, my sight is not clear anymore. My tools have turned into weapons, I have lost sight of what I’m looking for under the rocks. I have turned into an attacker. Sometimes,I’m a rock, sitting hard refusing to move, other times I’m a dart, piercing through others below me. At times I turn into a huge hill. I just keep on growing bigger and bigger. I can't help it at this point. I grow until my foundations cannot hold anymore. Then the fall begins. I topple over. Hard. Bruising some who climb along my paths, crushing the rest.
I eventually fall back deep into the ground where I truly belong.
and I look up and see a new path on which I must tread.