Vulture
Supposed, the hunt
a witness not of the act,
but of the bearing,
taking as its own.
Not to kill, not to romanticize
it exists as fear,
a dread that sits,
but only when,
only when there is no breath.
The sand settles,
filled with the returned closure
of the loops that death once opened.
A vulture kills for what already exists
a massacre of the end,
what lays is terror.
petrified of the demise
blindness is but a mishap.
Be it cowardice,
jitters of being picked apart
lucid dreams before the blindness kicks in,
scenes of ecstasy the eyes cannot see,
the full and final elation,
no glee.
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Oh no. I can't to watch this
cause of the movement you mean, is it jarring...
I think a vulture is nothing more than nature’s refuse collector. It’s good that they’re around. Nature has come up with clever ways to prevent disease. It’s a shame that people are ruining it.
It’s not a lack of courage, but a good dose of patience that’s needed to wait for a meal, whilst hoping that no others are lurking nearby, such as the hyena...
And they make fear present, torn to pieces by it, and though patient they are, how much restraint can they have before the veils break? They get there.
Patience isn’t always a virtue. Fighting is better than going down in silence. Waiting for a saviour is a lost cause. Anyone can make it; the only question is which price weighs heaviest. It’s not easy to keep a clear head and ignore the "hunger".