Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)


Human vultures live off carcases
Of those they helped to kill,
Profiteering mass murderers
Loving money and sick thrills.

The unholy dollar is their mistress
The only thing they truly desire,
They stand and watch and laugh
As their myriad victims expire.

Human vultures profiting
From the misery of others,
Laughing in a degenerate way
Watching their betters suffer.

In their sick and diseased minds
Murder is a glorious thing,
They lust to watch their victims
Succumb to death's foul sting.

Like vultures in the old West
War-mongers rip and rend,
Living upon the profits of
Wars they hope will never end.

Selling death for mere money
The vultures are making a mint,
As the bloody streams flow on
Their eyes take on an evil glint.

Weapons for cash is their business
"Weapons for cash!" their battle cry,
It's just like owning a printing press
Money rolls in, while good men die.

© Copyright 2022 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

About this poem

I remember the saddest day of my life, when I was nine or ten. When I learnt the most obscene thing I've ever heard. That private companies are allowed to make weapons of war for profit. Despite being unemotional as a rule, I cried out loud when I heard this. I still believe that if the UN passed a worldwide law that only governments could own factories making weapons of war, that war would virtually end. History is resplendent with examples of private companies giving millions of dollars worth of weapons to small nations, then grossly overcharging the big nations, to keep what should have been a short war going for years or even decades, so that they could grow fat on the profits of death!

Font size:

Written on May 14, 2022

Submitted by philip0157 on May 14, 2022

55 sec read

Phil Roberts

I turn 65 on the 31st of January 2022. I love cats, rock music, and horror fiction and poetry more…

All Phil Roberts poems | Phil Roberts Books

FAVORITE (3 fans)

Discuss this Phil Roberts poem with the community:



    Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

    Select another language:

    • - Select -
    • 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
    • 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
    • Español (Spanish)
    • Esperanto (Esperanto)
    • 日本語 (Japanese)
    • Português (Portuguese)
    • Deutsch (German)
    • العربية (Arabic)
    • Français (French)
    • Русский (Russian)
    • ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
    • 한국어 (Korean)
    • עברית (Hebrew)
    • Gaeilge (Irish)
    • Українська (Ukrainian)
    • اردو (Urdu)
    • Magyar (Hungarian)
    • मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
    • Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Italiano (Italian)
    • தமிழ் (Tamil)
    • Türkçe (Turkish)
    • తెలుగు (Telugu)
    • ภาษาไทย (Thai)
    • Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
    • Čeština (Czech)
    • Polski (Polish)
    • Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Românește (Romanian)
    • Nederlands (Dutch)
    • Ελληνικά (Greek)
    • Latinum (Latin)
    • Svenska (Swedish)
    • Dansk (Danish)
    • Suomi (Finnish)
    • فارسی (Persian)
    • ייִדיש (Yiddish)
    • հայերեն (Armenian)
    • Norsk (Norwegian)
    • English (English)


    Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:


    "VULTURES" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 17 May 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/127567/vultures>.

    Become a member!

    Join our community of poets and poetry lovers to share your work and offer feedback and encouragement to writers all over the world!

    May 2022

    Poetry Contest

    Enter our monthly contest for the chance to win cash prizes and gain recognition for your talent.

    Browse Poetry.com


    Are you a poetry master?

    In the Edward Lear poem, which instrument does the Owl play while serenading the Pussy Cat?
    • A. A guitar
    • B. A banjo
    • C. A violin
    • D. A mandolin