The Mushroom; Graverobber of the Meadow (From the Perspective of a Plant)

This is a poem about the horrors of the mushroom, written from the perspective of a plant, who has seen the decomposed bodies of his friends and family consumed by these ghastly beasts.

Fungi feed on decay in the clearing,

decomposition is their hunger’s choice.

Murderous mushroom tops cloud the periphery,

of corpses, fed on without any voice.

Beware the fungi, those clever jackals,

lacking respect, courting carnage with joy.

 

Some carry poison, others strange flavors.

Stomachs may twist, others may savor,

the taste of the grave robber in the meadow.

My brethren quiver beneath the shadows,

casted by those beasts, purveyors of theft;

bodies once intact, degrading in death.

 

Psychedelic symbol, noble in frenzy,

terror whispered of, please lend your ears!

Allow my remains, momentary vassal,

to lie unabated for thousands of years.

Why must you cannibals desecrate graves?

Hear my pleas, before I drown in my tears!