desert rock

my wrinkled heart like the desert rock
is indifferent to the passers by
neither the scorching sun of the day
nor the coldest wind leaves a mark

my skinny frame desires none, needing

no one to admire, or to consider
for a keep sake for a shorter, or
a longer care for her safekeeping

my matured mind needs no props, support

from dogma, or assurance with cultic
promises for sailing across the gigantic
ocean, for i’m a rock in the desert

© henry victor     17.02.2003