Black crows

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.
                

I remember looking outside the window during my maths lesson and seeing hundreds of crows circling a field not so far away; I guessed a sheep had died and they were looking for a meal, but the longer I stared the more the collective of individual crows entraced me. So I started writing this poem, as a way of showing my admiration and envy, my envy for their freedom from emotion.