Vulture
That old vulture is perching at the foot of my bed
Empty headed, lurching forward on a long neck
Strong, cold staring eyes, set sharp, dark in
Un-feathered features
As it slowly baits its breath and squawks
‘Beware’
The creatures not for killing,
Lies in wait, watches time, welcomes you to your fate,
Into the lonely company of flies,
Who, unaware that you exist,
Only settle when you are kissed by death.
The breath is often heavy in my throat,
Gloating beast, feast your eyes, remote in glance
For it will eat your flesh given half the chance
Laughing hyena, preying on my mind,
Cannot find any peace,
When I die at the end
That vulture will descend and lick its lips,
Tear my skin to strips
And begin to pick my bones dry…
Back