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
Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2018
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.