Vultures

My strength quickly slips away --

My vision, hazy,

The scattered trees, distant mountains, scorching desert sun become indiscernible.

But I have not lost all senses

I feel the sky darken by the circling vultures,

Waiting patiently for my last breath.

I hear the rumbling of a nearby river.

I close my eyes and imagine a salmon in the river --

A tenacious and resilient salmon, swimming upstream against the forceful current.

Crossing the mountains, molded so intricately by the relentless water,

A meadow appears,

Unperturbed except by an occasional breeze and a gracefully dancing butterfly.

A curious vulture lands next to me

And I return to the morbid desert.

With great effort, I turn my head and whisper, “Almost.”

Knowing what will become of me when I depart does not comfort me.

With despair, I ask myself, “Is my purpose merely to be a feast,

A forgotten feast when I can bequeath no more?”