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A life…

is like a vine.

Not a sword.

Not a storm.

A vine.

We twist

to keep

our balance.

We twist.

Not because we are lost…

but because the wind insists.

We crawl.

Hands in the dirt.

Knees in uncertainty.

We grip

our dreams,

our desires,

like bark in the dark.

We reach

without knowing

what we’re reaching for.

The twisting vine

does not see the whole forest.

It just follows

a quiet pull.

A sacred direction.

Sap rises.

Energy travels

through invisible veins.

Every cell remembering

where it came from.

And life…

life is held together

by support

we do not see.

A wall.

A tree.

A hand.

A prayer.

Still

the vine continues.

Expanding its reach.

Turning emptiness

into extension.

Turning pressure

into pattern.

Beautifying

even the broken spaces.

And a soul so determined…

so stubborn with hope…

it grows.

Even

without

light.