Just A Day In The Life
A woman of substance
She watches the crystal blue sky for a particular sign,
Mesmerised by the twist and turns of the high flying vulture
As it searches for a corpse on which to feast,
A lonesome trekker, its solitude existence a part of its culture.
**
The bird’s wings float upon the invisible airwaves,
She whistles a tune of the highest pitch,
Calling to the bird of prey to come on home,
As it’s time to boil in the revenge woven into every atmospheric stitch.
**
She raises her forearm for her pet’s landing,
Talons anchored upon her slim wrist,
She smiles into its eyes witnessing its hunger,
Desperate for a meal as its hunt was dismissed.
**
She croons upon its ravaged feathers,
Promising her enemy’s skull for its dinner,
A tasty morsel guaranteed to satisfy,
The taste marinated in the dirty deeds of a professional sinner.
**
She sharpens her axe for the upcoming kill,
While her vulture hops around her ankles in excitement and glee,
Inside her enemy sits at her dining table hoping to feast,
Believing he had the upper hand but he’ll have to wait and see.
**
She calls upon her wolf, yes the one howling at the moon every night,
Pulling him close to prey upon the beaten,
Finger bones, the chosen toothpick of the haunted,
Shocked smiles on the faces of those recently eaten.
**
She laughs at the antics of those who treat her as an underling,
Taking her petite structure for granted,
Not realising until too late she is made of fortitude and bluster,
Agony and raw emotion of the disenchanted.
**
She often leaves the wounded within her wake,
Smiling at the tormented screams as her pack cleans their bones,
Picks the delicacies from the ground at her feet,
Lavishing the gore from the drenched earth and stones.
**
That’s her daily chores completed without a fuss,
Her pack has enjoyed their breakfast in a well deserved feast,
Now the day is hers to do as she pleases,
And the world has been ridden of another ungrateful beast.
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.
Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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The Price I Pay
Here is a link to Randy Baker's Challenge: Prompted #4 *** Joseph It smells like desperation. Actually, it smells like bleach trying to hide the smell of urine, death, and desperation permanented into the studs of my new home. Even as the perky redhead in scrubs pushes me around in my wheelchair, blathering on about the different rooms and the schedule for the week, I can see a man pouring bleach in a bucket, preparing yet another attempt to mask the bits of horrid smell still peeking through.
By Alexandria Stanwyck7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (4)
Beware the woman who treats a vulture as a falcon & has a wolf pack as her familiar.
Omgggg I also want a pet vulture and pet wolf! That'll be soooo cool! I wanna feed them my enemies too!
The feminine spirit in this one is so good, and STRONG! Well done.
That was excellent work, my friend.