Vulture
by 
plurabelle
|
Posted: Wednesday, February 2, 2011 Word Count: 75 Summary: I haven't written anything since August, so I think this oldish piece jumped out at me as an image of drought and despair. Also I'm anxious about the rapid changes in the Middle East - could be so hopeful but could also be so disastrous. |
Strong air surges up
from sharp escarpment.
I sail, God's eye, viewing
a world of eating,
being eaten.
Cold peaks- white saints
too far for mercy -
glide a distant blue called heaven,
false promises of hope's horizon.
Below me only dead meat is true.
Sand drifts like a dry river
into the greedy mouth of a lost cave,
where dust destroys the words of pure lovers.
I have eaten flesh and blood.
Bones remain.
from sharp escarpment.
I sail, God's eye, viewing
a world of eating,
being eaten.
Cold peaks- white saints
too far for mercy -
glide a distant blue called heaven,
false promises of hope's horizon.
Below me only dead meat is true.
Sand drifts like a dry river
into the greedy mouth of a lost cave,
where dust destroys the words of pure lovers.
I have eaten flesh and blood.
Bones remain.