Growing

I am growing.

I am not a flower, with frail beauty for a season.

I am not a tree, whose leaves come and go with the cold.

I am a vine.

Climbing, climbing, and climbing.
I am reaching for the top, pulling myself up, towards the sun; the warmth.

Never, never stop. Up, and up and up. Growing.

Rain falls, pelts and hurts. But rain is for growth. I am persistent; rain makes my roots deeper, stronger and tougher. And I keep growing.

Not only up but out, stretching and trailing, covering everything.

Wrapping around others, growing with them.

Learning from looking back, but not dwelling on the past. Keep looking up.

Never stay stagnant, like a murky pond, full of shadows. Full of death.
For only things that are dead stop moving, stop growing.

I am not dead.

Some try and chop me down but I am too strong.
I grow back. I come back thicker, more resilient.

Winter will come but spring always follows.

And I, I keep growing