Thursday, December 06, 2007



Unmoved by wind’s blustered attention,
resisting tidal embrace,
time and fashion’s fickle fingers,
it’s just a rock.
There is no holy imprint,
no ghostly outline of saint
to entice or charm.
It may project skywards
but at its base the pollution of waters
lick and suck and splash
in the monotony of days.
It is just a rock.
It carries scars of brief encounters
and watery persistence;
age has stolen some of its beauty
and delusions of grandeur.
It is just a rock.
Maybe, in its time, it has been a safe haven
for lives in danger, a butterfly or tired bird,
the safety net for a spider’s aerial trapeze.
It is just a rock.
In my gaze, I wonder,
could I succeed at being a rock ?

1 comment:

Cami said...

As I read, I anticipated where this poem was going...I wasn't prepared for so much this ministers to me.