Around us, nothing.
Like a painting by Salvador Dalí.
Desert, that is all.
I am on a cross, so high, that I would die from the fall.

Naked, defenseless, under your power and command.
You are holding something, in your hand.
A trident? and there, in the other, a rose.
Terrified, of which you are to impose.

I can only hope,
That you too see a defenseless self,
Hanging on a cross,
Terrified, of making another loss.