Persistence
The vine inches up the walls,
green and vibrantly alive
against the stucco wall.
Dead vines, bereft of leaves and life
still cling, gray and brittle,
like love’s skeletons, a haunting threat
of what is always possible
when one insists on living,
insists absolutely insists
on loving,
But here’s the thing.
Vines never die. Never.
Those who would kill it again again and again
must fight it’s rebirth each and every day
because somewhere, deep in the earth’s soul,
life, love,
persists
About this poem.
OK, the poem was going to be called Kudzu, but somehow comparing love to that pest of a plant just seemed wrong.
The picture was taken at Green Mountain College in Poultney, VT.
Tom
Quarry House 
Plus that ain’t kudzu! ALL Southerners know what that looks like…if you stand still long enough you will become a kudzu statue like the old pickup trucks left abandoned in N. Georgia! 🙂
Oh I know it’s not Kudzu. I just referenced Kudzu. That stuff is amazing, grows feet in a day sometimes. When we all die out, the Kudzu and the cockroaches will take over.