fauxcroft

Dead man laying in a gulch,

head dangling in a stream

eyes wide open as if a traversing dream,

supplicated look of a muted scream

in concordance with a deep jagged ravine,

vultures looking to eviscerate his soul

he never managed to transcend his goals,

parched by a radiant searing heat

all around is nothing except scarcity,

and as the vultures cry overhead

eagerly seeking to feast on carrion flesh.

The old worn dusty trousers tattered and torn,

a ripped up shirt sweat stained ruffles in the breeze

old leather pig skin boots hanging off the feet

this supine body now just resembles meat

to the creatures that inhabit here

unknown carcass to which causes no tears

died on his own everybody’s worse fear.