Vultures, Cobra.

The vultures are circling,

No telling when they're stopping,

Until the bones are picked dry,

All shrivelled and wry,

Black feathers, pink skin,

It's hard to tell when the truth caves in,

They just can't stop, they will take and take

With no remorse,

Their shouts are loud, their voices coarse,

Soon their agenda's will be clear,

and they'll take their course, to the bone yard,

Where the cobra lays,

its skin deshevilled,

its tongue is frayed,

it knew not to question but did anyway,

and now it will drown and drown until the pain passes away,

it will sliver and slide,

into the river of theives,

the snake, the bird,the turning tide.

Reviews

[revalatia]

I've dealt with vultures like these before.. I find that without the weakened remains of prey, they either die or move on ;).. well done..