murder

Black crows flap their wings
Through the grey, grim sky
En masse, they congregate, they fly
Fly to impose their darkness throughout
Each to their own, they keep no doubt
A flying inquisition, no morals, their souls mangled 
their scars amassed, in battle and woe
In admiration I watch them, full of sorrow.

Their wings flap as they soar through the sky
While I sit 
stuck, 
grounded and 
die.