Growth Spurt

My tendrils pierce the dark dank earth Looking for a place to bloom "Come here, youll love it" croons a voice "No, here, it's a great field" wafts another Birds chirp overhead intelligibly Patches of light filter through the topsoil Praire dogs speak of a new life A new home if I wish I want a nourishing field, and know what it looks like But not what the surface looks like Smells of dirt, flitters of light Offer tantalizing hints The voices try to guide, but are trapped in themselves As am I I gather my breath and all that I have and pierce