What is it considered here . . .

When one appears at peace

Happy in the company of their peers
But can't yet escape the nightmares

That haunt every night alive

Living with the boiling hot water

In constant suppressed sorrow

It's like the surface of the earth that trembles

For underneath flows magma

Occasionally it caves in, sometimes out

Sometimes in spurts sometimes in shouts

Let's not settle on grounds that bubble and quake

But let us gather on sturdy solid soil

To plant a family of trees

Make friends, start a forest

Deceive only those that try to buy and sell

So that they don't trap you in their home-grown hell

one part of a poem by robert shropshire