The Place Of Vengeance Poem by John DeBona

Waiting for the fall, vultures circle over.
The smell of death, cries on the wind.
The accuser waits in ambush.
Hiding in its lair.
Tasting blood before it falls.
Counting a premature treasure.
The victim moves forward, hungered
and seeking to quench its thirst.
One foot in front, one step at a time.
Weary but not dead, it knows its
being watched. Its not a fool.
It leads the accuser to the place of vengeance.