Vultures Poem by Alexander Downie

The vultures are circling in crimson skies of hate,
for the slightest dying of wretched resolve they wait.
They look to each other, who'll first the carcass pounce,
a gluttonous grimy greed, scared to miss a failing flesh ounce.

The count in percentages in huddles of lubricious lust,
a ready made nest to lay their deceit and tarnished trust.
With what blood I have left I can smell them nearing,
slashing the last vestiges of pride, laughing and sneering.