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The media once rendered them into gods, but now they were only lonely stalks of fungi, devouring the rotting earth. They suffer through the cold winters of not being noticed, but they are still admirable, how they keep the world afloat.
Rated: Fiction T - English - Poetry - Words: 124 - Published: 08-21-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3052147
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Mushrooms that are laid across the land
Wriggle once with your sickened bodies and I know your panned
Faces
Stare at me like a baby's confusion when It cuts through the womb
Fluffy caps that protect you from the snow wraps
(As they make you cold with their white blanket that shines like the moon)
I know why you wear them
Because you want to be just like
Us
With your emaciated thinness and your venom
As it sickens the masses
Once the media plucks you
With its eyes
Giving you fame and fortune
But only I know
That us without the million whites
And the million blues and browns and greens
As they stare at us waiting for that something in-between
Is divine
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