Forever, Poem by john o'connell

forever,
you walk through dry pastures
admired by the ghosts of dead civilizations;
resting in a sand-dusted corner
you savour the wine
as it wets mens' throats
without twitching a nerve.

you make a fool of the camel
who insists on being satirical;
being so strong as to let
pockets of stabbing light
pierce your pools of welcome shade.

finally,
you are never surprised
and with a shrug of the shoulders
say: 'let us get on with the job'.