Poets logo

Lichen, Symbiotic Relationship

The Clawing of the Classes

By Andrea LawrencePublished about a year ago 2 min read
1
Lichen | Pixabay

Crispy feelings: sorting through the

mess. I am the lily, the lantern, the

Lace. The LION in me covered

in leaves. My hundred

and two

your one thousand

and blue. Count

for me the ways you dip me in the

dance. Count for me the ways you

hold me in my sleep.

Red ruby slippers

house

fallen

on

a

witch

her

legs

sticking

out

like

a

caterpillar

escaping

a

cocoon.

Her lemon cookies were over baked,

and she overwhelmed them with mint.

Punished

by

the

tornado,

the

house

upon

her

chest.

While raisins and oatmeal SPLASHED

into the bowl. THEY SPLASHED

into the freakin’ bowl

and no one cared.

No one heard their cries.

People just kept buying

and wasting time

while others behind fences

wailed for bread and for homes

that didn’t fall from the sky.

Sigh. Exhausted. Pitiful times!

The rich as rich as metal skin condors

and the poor as poor as wood skin

snails.

The meek shall inherit the earth,

but first the rich must waste it.

The meek shall inherit the earth,

but first the witches must buy

expensive ingredients for bad cookies

and lust after ruby red slippers.

The meek shall inherit the earth,

but there is no rest for the wicked.

Punch the space bar as many times

as you like, but you don’t inch closer

to connecting the clogs

the dissonances the spawns

and the swans…. More words

won’t help the meek inherit the earth.

No, the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

long live

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

long live

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the rich

the legion of rich leeches

leaching for a lichgate

to worship their holy black

nonsensical overlord

made of leeches and lichen

the Lich.

The Lich King,

the one true one who

likens to a parasite.

sad poetrysocial commentarysurreal poetry
1

About the Creator

Andrea Lawrence

Freelance writer. Undergrad in Digital Film and Mass Media. Master's in English Creative Writing. Spent six years working as a journalist. Owns one dog and two cats.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.