The Vine

| Filed under

Contributor: Kevin M. Tenny

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Who am I, but a fruitless vine?
Pining through thought and mind
To produce a ripened fruit.

The flowers blossom,
The trees burgeon,
Even the weeds peek
Through the toiled Earth.

Where is my desired bud
That recapitulates my tired

What to do? Nothing,
But grow.

On and On
I grow.

Rising ever onward,
and touching clouds.

Then I see!
Look, there it is!

The view from
My height.

The trees below,
The flowers below,
The weeds underneath.

My fruit is not
A berry, lemon,
Or rose.

My view from
Atop this
Realm is my

But where was this
Height? Surely it was
Not hidden
In plain sight!

It was not.

Growing to new
Heights is a fruit,
Cultivated by

From thought and
Mind – the pining
For fruit is
One in the same.

What more could
A poor vine need
Than the will to stretch
An old-planted seed?

- - -
An undergraduate engineering student seeking right-brain stimulation.


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