Insight

If love was all it took to succeed I woud be red oak instead of weed Committment, faithfulness feed Still through every fiber to all in need But we who walk the straight line Are the devoured ones you'll find. And each time left behind by one I am sure about, my fragment grows Less, a tree may grow in the sun Or wither unless some water flows Into the roots quiet, and deep Where all my secrets there I keep. This poem then is a fissure in the rock The churning magma will grow Hard again, and tree rings like a clock Will tell but will not openly show The years that make xylem wood The tears that make the heart to brood.