rot

underneath the decking, the wood is soft,
rotted by years of neglect, exposure
to the elements: water, salt, sun.

underneath, where it cannot be seen,
the foundation grows weaker, weaker
with each day left unprotected.

It is a conscious choice, this neglect,
this belief that all that matters is the surface,
well polished and presented,

a belief that somehow we are smarter
than the laws of nature that govern our lives,
so much so that even when we hear the final crack beneath our feet,

we do not believe.

About this poem. 

Things. Relationships. Faith. Life. Health. Love. Creativity.  Our minds.

They all fit. Kinda scary, huh?

Tom