Twisted vines grow from earth
spiralling around our ankles
shows how far we’ve climbed from the dirt
when we’re still held here.
It hurts
but we’ll never see clear
no matter how much concrete we pour
to hold back the green
maybe this should have been foreseen.
But it probably was
long ago
before we fought against the natural flow
and now we are stuck
covering muck
trying to stop the grass sprouting forth beneath us.
It’s like willing the rain to wait in the sky
or telling the tide to be late to arrive
we’re not gods or kings
we have no power.
We’re just trying to argue the point
with the place that we live
all to save face
so stand still and let the vines grow
around our ankles
it’s their land
you know.
Seb Reilly is a writer, fiction author and occasional musician. He lives by the sea with his family and two cats.
SICK LIT MAGAZINE 
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