Marcus

Vines grasping at a cement ledge

as if to fulfill a secret pledge.

Under rain and sun it soaks in its stay,

it stiffens like a python with formidable prey.

Its roots are healthy and strong as stone

but it grows as if by will alone.

Branching out without a halt

it avoids being turned to a pillar of salt.

“Look at me.” it demands recognition.

It seems all along this was its mission.

To justify its growth without a doubt in its fibers,

it wants to hear a voice, it wants to be admired.

Rightfully so, I sit and watch you grow.

But you never look back, so you will never know.