As the broiling bronze sphere
rises high in the turquoise sky,
circling black scavengers wing
on winds of high.
The smell of blood and carnage
inflame their nostril beaks as
their prey lie dead or dying on
the desert floor so surreal and
The blood curdling cries of the
black winged vultures echo over
the now silent battlefield where
the reeking bodies lie.
The battle is over and the victors
have gathered their wounded and
dead as the vanquished silently
await their fate flying high overhead.
A gruesome scene to behold
as death takes its bloody toll.
An eerie silence prevails over
the battlefield as the victors
march silently off in their
triumphant victory so bold.
Losers lose and winners win,
and that’s the rules regardless
of their warring sin.
As long as there’s wars there
will be warriors to fight and
die and the count will forever
be too high.
The birds of prey will continue
through the centuries to survive
in this hideous way.
And the continuity of death will
provide for these feather beasts
on battlefields of upheaval,
in a life and death struggle
for causes of good and evil.
Jackie R. Kays/Copyright…2004
Vote for this poem
|Please Comment On This Poem