Scattered and shaken, roots plucked one by one
Like a deadly game of whack-a-mole
Quicksand to plug the barrel holes

My redwoods turned over like water oaks
Gasping for air, arms stretched to the sky
Too much wreckage to even try

Senseless tending to those shallow roots
Stroking my need for safe and secure
How blind, how small. I was so sure.

Now implosion uncovers illusion
The rug pulled out from under silk socks
Hole in the ground that never stops

How is it that I still don’t know better?
Why do I keep planting pretend seeds?
What do I need? What do I need?

The bread of life. The hope of glory.
My firm foundation. My love story.
My beginning and my end.
My good father and my friend.
He is my hope. He is my joy.
He is my safe. He is my secure.