Incessant green tendrils choke the bark
Needing, wanting light
Restricting it, though, only conjuring the dark
The tree realizes its plight

Reaching and clawing to the tip
Never once slowing down
The tree held hostage by its grip
Now will never be found

Helpless, though, the tree may be
To stop its fatal woe
The vine climbs higher ever so slowly
Looking down below

What happens once it reaches the top?
Constricting limbs climb higher
Reaching, clawing until the host’s life stops
The spreading web like a spider’s

The vine has now at last succeeded
The forest is now a mess
The vine’s dispersion went unimpeded
In light of a growing darkness

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Mclane Daugherty