And with each thing I learned
I believed it to be true.
Each new truth became a root
and anchored me more strongly
to where I stood.
And I believed this to be good.
Even when I was unable to move,
my roots so deep in my foundation of truth.
Even when the world turned around me and people came and went,
I stayed where I was,
in my truth.
My truth did not accept the invitation
although I saw this occurring around me.
And there I stood.
Before long my roots
began to crack the foundation
they were buried in.
The earth began to break up around them,
screaming for air and moisture and nourishment.
Exposed now, my roots began to wither.
Until one day
I easily toppled,
with just a slight breeze.
I was left
Truth cannot stand not being fed.
And now I think that perhaps truth is meant
to be less like the trees
and more like the breeze.