Dry Bones

Carnivores make peace with preys lying half dead in

their paunchy bellies.

Tasty carcasses.

Hungry vultures.

Carnivores become scavengers, for green coated greed.

Unending blood hunt.

Deserted city inhabited with dry bones.

Bones too cold to fight for their flesh: a feeble stunted stalk.

The only flesh that hugs tired bones

is eaten by eager dirt.

A world with rulers who determine

to feast till famine, dining with blood stained hands.

Till every flesh melts, in their fiery palms, to dry bones.

Even then,

their hunger grows like a mustard seed.

- ad_poet