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Vultures are feasting
on the remains of unleavened bread
offered as a burnt offering to God.
Vultures are feasting on the carcasses of stillborn
With bald heads on emaciated skin
shivering in the cold.

Nobody cares,
Kings rule,
The politics kill them,
They are led to the pit
They are offered as burnt offerings to God.

The house of God is a rotten den
Infested with epidemic and immoralities.
Dirty, stinking, 'un-swept' and unkempt,
The porches and the tabernacles thereof
are eaten by termites.

I look up to the sky of lost forgotten stars
I see a weary God
mourning over a bleeding son.

Is there God?
Many ask,
I ask myself...

'There is no God' the most knowledgeable answer
The religious fanatics argue.

I see no God in a weary God in heaven,
mourning over a bleeding son makes there be God.

Do I ever make sense?
I am a fool, but these poets lack reason
Though reason do not bring me spectators.

I am not a man
I see Vultures feasting on their sinews,
Left to die in the drought and famine
How dare God judge any man?

The world is helpless,
They kill each other for one God.

I see that the sun shall rule the night
I see that a virgin shall labor in pain,
I see that the lion shall wed the antelope
I see that the dead shall help the living

I see Vultures
When in lucid sleep I dream...

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 


that this poem has a direction, but it wanders and just barely holds the course. I see that the writer has no faith in God being a just god. That there is injustice and misery in the world and he does nothing to stop it, just mourning over his lost son, whom he sent to sacrifice. There may be much more, but I don't see it. ~ Geezer.

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I admire a use of verse which both implores and explores the richness and forbidden nature of the human subconscious. I like to imply a vent for a universal mind, and I see in lots of poetry both the words and rhythmical mantra of life, sex and death,, for me, broken senses predicate a sea of songs which sing for a shattered and angry use of heart break and sensual human ideals. although I write endless poetry, I am self assured that some of the verses I curate are faulty.,. good wishes

Mario Vitale

I wanna read ur works


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