Earning the Writer's Trust

He could trust the solid ground to let me walk;
He's never weak to hold my weight.
When I'm in his sand, muddy and wet,
I get pushed down. I thought I could walk,
wiggle my feet to move forward, though I couldn't budge
from his mud and almost drowned in his pit.

He could trust the water to let me see;
He never tires of my admiration.
When I'm in his black liquid, thickened to tar,
I can't even walk nor escape.
The sun dissolves my bones,
and the dehydration kill's who I am.
I need to earn the sand and the liquid's trust
before I could move with him.

              David Hernandez