Aspire
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— sonnet and photos —
_ by @d-pend _
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Aspire

A spire races up towards heights untold;
a-twining does it rise unto the rays
that beckon to its vine to soft unfold,
ascending from its safer, shady lays.

To reach is to be struck by elements
that sear, and scour, and stifle growth newborn;
to grow is to betray timid defense—
past fear, to flower, and thrive through night forlorn.

To thrive is to be piercèd by a thorn,
be bold at sight of blood unfairly drawn,
be happy in the blaze of with'ring scorn:
survive another eve, another dawn.

A spire to the heights, by nothing fazed,
in triumph over bowers of the dazed.

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— Original photos and sonnet —
— by Daniel Pendergraft —
— April 8th, 2020 —

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