Have been wanting to write this poem for quite some time, but I couldn't find the right metaphors to accentuate the theme. At last, I've found them. Written April 2012.


The vultures, they fly
High above the rest
Encircling their pray
Abandoning their nest

They starve for acceptance
Of which they can't earn
They settle for mimicry
And choose not to learn

They target their prey:
originality
The kill of another
Provides them a meal free

While the beast enjoys part of
His dead, bloody mess
The vultures swoop in
To feed off of his success

They pick and they shred
The beast hardly cares
They leave nothing but bones
Yet the beast simply stares

For the beast, he knows
Fighting a vulture is futile
Why waste the effort
On a creature so vile?

Despite confrontation
The vultures will still feed
Stealing scraps from every kill
To fulfill their need

Til the water's dried up
And the food is all gone
And there's nothing more left
For the vultures to feed on

And their feathers fall out
And their wicked grin fades
And their colorful egos
Become black and white shades

And they fall to the ground
Where they wither and die
But were they ever living
If their lives were a lie?