We stave off death
by killing life.
We wipe our chins
with the oxymoron
and pick flesh from
our teeth.
Greedy, bloated, and grumbling…
we pass our days in the land of the bountiful
dreaming of our next meal while brandishing
a television remote as a sword to slice images
of the hungry from our conscience.
Judgment waits with its empty plate
to see if we will repent and share our harvest…
Greasy fingers hold firmly to silver forks.
©Susie Clevenger 2013
Comments
Cheers :)
Good luck with you NaPoWriMo endeavours.
What a start to the month!
Are you still on a high from the publication of your book?
I wasn't expecting this neat little delicacy. Now where did I put my silver fork?
Your poem made me think of vultures. Did you know that vultures are very patient and do not kill their prey. They wait for death so it really isn't prey.
Yesterday afternoon coming home from our top-down wildflower viewing ride we spotted six black vultures (Google them) feasting on some road kill beside the road. I did not turn around for a blog picture taking session.
But they were sooo pretty, black and large, seemingly raven sized.
In the United States, the vulture receives legal protection under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918
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Well done....
Yes, this poem is Wow :D
Well said.
K
Reminds me of the Beatles song, "Piggies."
BRAVA! Amy