A dying plant

It is here
that I stand reaching
both high,
with outstretched limbs
grabbing as much sky
as my meagre frame allows
then low
lower than my mood
searching for nutrients
a search hampered
by my surroundings.

Thirst is killing me
recognition and ardour
my water
love and affection
my sunlight
yet darkness prevails.

If I was a plant
dying in a pot
rooted in parched soil
leaves wilting and falling
stems collapsing
fanning my base
with green turning to yellow
then brown
a backwards cycling rainbow.

I would understand my invisibility
those abruptly interrupted conversations
my words only utterances
ideas immediately ignored
forever lonely among a crowd.

But I am not a plant
though dying is very true
as are we all
I may be insignificant now
yet our destiny is identical
we are but worm food
nutritional dust and bones.

***
contest entry for maples contest