Cramped and struggling, new green pushes up through the soil, breaking free.
Immediately after it breaks out of the ground,
rays and beams attack it from all angles, pushing it up.
Looking up to the sky,
its branches and limbs groan as they shoot out further.
The pale blue becomes a want, a desire,
a need, a desperation.
All around there are whispers, urging on, speeding up,
rushing it.
Hurry, they whisper, you’re almost there.
Leaves crumple and fall to the ground,
a golden rainfall littering the roots.
Each one is counting down the hours.
Almost bare, the branches continue to go up until at last,
the tip of a single limb,
straining,
brushes a breath away from the sky.
Screeching outrage,
trembling violently against the winter wind, the tree stretches again,
throwing
its weight up into the branch,
willing
it to fly higher this time.
The branch flies up again, strains, stretches.
Almost….
The trunk groans as it shifts up, stretching.
The tip of the branch skims the surface and falls.
The tree follows it, brought down by its momentum.
A/N Right then. This should be my last draft on this, as it's due really soon. This means I can stop spamming the poetry forums and start hoarding my points again.
Again, quality can stink, so long as the imagery is fine. I need imagery help. Please.
