Vultures

 

The road to hell is lined with good intentions,

but it should be mentioned

that it's also lined with skulls,

too many to count.

They are piled as high as skyscrapers,

by the roadside they mount

 

They watch on

through dead eyes

as you slowly drive by.

Each torturous mile,

more harrowing than the last.

Beyond the skulls just a dead wasteland,

desolate and vast.

 

Above the skulls,

the vultures circle.

Swooping in now and then.

Waiting for that last exhale,

to observe in closer detail

the look of fear that contorts every face,

the scared eyes that they love to taste.

 

They have gorged themselves,

this feathery band,

along this stretch of land,

for centuries.

Guiding the way to the wrought iron gates

of hell's eternal penitentiaries.

Readying themselves for a feast.

Before they take what remains of you

to finally meet the beast.

 

 

Thanks for reading

Check out my latest book 

https://tinyurl.com/KCHFITS

 

Peace, Love and Poetry

Kyle