Time
Is all we have
Before we turn
Into a vuture of a man.
The head of a man
Will turn into a sharp beak
With huge dark eyes that tells
Us about the horror of how he ran out of time.
Lost control.
The horror of turning
Into a vulture of a man.
The body of his skeleton
With pealing green feathers
And skin
The collarbones as sharp as the beak
The ribs as slick as meat
Aged and rotten.
Beckoning to turn
With him,
Into a vulture of a man.
Lastly the arms
One still muscular and vibrant
Another with green
Feathers grown.
Hands that have held our
Time we have left
Will turn into
All full grown
Vulture of a man.