The obese vulture stares
searching for more to scavange
more blood to inhale
Its wings slice through the air
like a surgeon's knife.
Beak sharpened, and glistening...
devouring death where there once was life.
Vagabonds of the wastelands
Death's angels sent upward toward Earth
To crudely deliever their cargo
after picking it from the dirt.

To writer: The first three lines stuck in my mind so much, that I found myself adding lines 4-11. First time I've added on to any short poem on this site. Good job! Though your lines were short, there was enough imagry to spark my immagination. I could imagine those creepy, fat vultures along the roadside with putrid, dried blood on its beak. L. S. Maynard

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Edgar Allan Poe-ish
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very!
like your additions LSM...
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Great job and ditto the Poe feeling! ~Linda