Creeper

 

The earth cracks up;
Reveals a crevice
And the tiny green hood
Of the creature
That was born within;
Has ensconced itself;
Ramified and spread,
With its sprawling roots,
Deep, thick and bulgy.
Beneath the tiny green hood,
A hungry creeper awakens.
It is ambitious and presumptuous;
Feeds on the insides,
And crawls on the outside,
Grazing and groveling.
It grows onto your hand
You had held out only to toy
With its flimsy sensitive tendrils
Which now ingratiate
And warp around your stiff fingers.
It grows onto your feet
Though you stood there
Only to be a spectator,
It knots around your legs
Attempts to tie you up,
Restricts your freedom.
Its arms still lengthening,
Still groping,
Have clutched you
As they run across your chest,
Around your waist,
Unaware that you are free
That you have a mind of your own;
Unaware that you had been
Only mocking its idiosyncrasies.
You had felt good when
It fumbled and found you
And to know it can thrive
Only by embracing you.
It is only irksome now
In trying to own you.
You have no use for it any more.
And so, it is time
To shake off the fetters.
To sneeze off the malady;
To uncurl those silly tendrils,
And let them dangle.
It is time to tear apart
The rampant tangled mess;
To burn it down;
To stomp over it;
And to extricate yourself.
The gaping crevice it would leave,
Will be sealed with cement.
The roots will die and shrink
And be entombed within.
You will shrug and walk away
And find another plaything.

(This poem first appeared in Wax Poetry Art)