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The Buzzard on the branch

Updated on September 17, 2015

The buzzard on the branch; it knows my name.

It soars in at my darkest times, perched on the branch above my head.
Watching me with its dark, hungry eyes; it wishes me dead.

Waiting, wanting, wishing for me to fall.
Staring at me intently, with eyes as lifeless as a doll.

It knows my thoughts, and sees me struggle as I live on.
It’s hoping I don’t make it to see another dawn.

There have been times when it almost got fed,
Times when I felt I was better off dead.

But then I woke up, and knew that I made it another day.
I outsmarted that old buzzard, and made it without becoming prey.
But I don’t want to die.
Not today.

© 2014 Augustine A. Zavala

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  • Chris Antonaros profile image

    Christos Antonaros 21 months ago from Athens, Greece

    Very nice poetry! Dark and strong with powerful words and symbolism! Good Job!

  • A.A. Zavala profile image
    Author

    Augustine A Zavala 21 months ago from Texas

    Thank you Chris. Sometimes our best work comes from our darkest times. Thanks again for the visit.

  • Gypsy Rose Lee profile image

    Gypsy Rose Lee 21 months ago from Riga, Latvia

    Most creative poetry. Love the picture of the buzzard.

  • A.A. Zavala profile image
    Author

    Augustine A Zavala 21 months ago from Texas

    Thank you Gypsy. It's still hungry.

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