The Young Growing Tree
'You can never be like us'
Their words pricked me as my growth became itchy.
They mocked at my stalk in its feeble stage.
Still I could flip the page
That was the end of my dormant stage.
My roots never failed responding to gravity.
I sprung open my tinny leaves trying to trap light energy.
Despite their dejection I paved my way to the top.
Amidst insults pouring down like boiling rain.
Purpose swallowed my pains.
I was dead and buried under the soil.
But now flourish upward and forward.
The eyes that could trample me down,
Now they can only watch me scrape the sky.
The energies they wasted on pruning my hope,
Now they can only hope to attain my height.
I am ever fresh
I am ever fruitful
I am rising on high
I am God's investment
I am the making of God
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