Grounded

Stood at the upstairs window, hands face down fists clenched, knuckles touching cool windowsill. Crows, silhouette cut-outs surveyed the town from aerials and ranged the skies at will. I watched their dark progressions jealously, from eggshells cracked they burst and rove the sky roaming when needs dictate, they hunt and feed instinct their engine, not some reasons why. And here I stand moulded by circumstance, driven by life's winds, leaf upon a stream, currents of obligation, waves of chance my path determined, yet allowed to dream. Cannot accept defeat though these things be, I know I'm out there somewhere- the real me