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.
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