Carrion eaters, of dead and rotting flesh, who pick the bones so clean.
Vultures of the air, whom in flight so majestic seem.
Who purge from sight the ugliness of deaths unsightly gore.
And I alone into the heavens, as these mighty birds do soar.
Or is it I and I alone, to whom your beauty hath been seen?
Oh carrion eater, will you pick my bone to clean?
Or have others stared in deaths repose and wondered as you soar
Whos fate is worse, the carrion eaters or the dead and rotting gore
Comments about this poem (Carrion by james howard )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley