Overshadowed

Flat, folding fungi grows from the damp,
old oak, spores rising to touch the older,
falling white caps upon high.

These spores are the chains of knowledge
and familiarity, reaching to laugh and love
something, at least in façade,
doing the same.

New learns old and wants to reach its heights,
riling the troops of personliaty
to fire away into the night.

But the micro-growth,
the singular, the small
child sunk into voidish
cracks within root-bark
can only spore weakly
to those looking down
at reflections of the fire
highlighting pores upon
its lowly face