Split Roots

There are layers to truth.
It never arrives whole — it must be earned, uncovered, survived.

It stands upon a single trunk and a tremor of soul.
Its surface may deceive — for even truth learns to lie
when the eye of the world grows hungry.

Do not trust the upward gaze.
The longer the neck, the deeper its hiding.
The true mouth does not speak above the earth —
it waits in the undergrowth,
where roots remember what consciousness forgets.