Presumably dormant within the darkness.
Pushing ever-upward from this deep hole.
Struggling towards the light.
Writhing to break free.
Naive of the chaos that awaits,
hoping to sprout.
With a final labored attempt,
the muck falls aside.
Curled to earth’s bosom,
small and frail seeking light.
Unfurling in the golden rays.
Rapidly Rising above obscurity.
Exhilaration in the breeze
masks the inevitable conclusion.
The blade cuts the ascent.
Now humbled,
the climb ends seemingly
in the decay from
which it began.
For the Dark Dreamscapes Poetry Contest June 2015.
Free verse – prompt: Bold SPROUT & DECAY within the poem.
Line count: 22 (including information lines)
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