A Slow Attempt
Vines twist up and through
where once glass and structure stood,
a slow attempt at murder.
But that is it’s saving grace,
the slowness, with its plethora
of second chances,
time to prepare the counter assault,
to unleash the fury
near death always brings.
About this poem.
I was going to call this poem Kudzu, but I didn’t have any pictures of that insidious vine. I guess I have been away from the South too long.
A poem about the things that tear us down. And the battle back.