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
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