Crows and purpose

 

Walking drunk down the passageway

past the sorry rooms

to gaze through the window

at the grey skies and

the blown crows

rushing by,

 

I have to ask why things worked out

this way.

 

Had I known that I needed to know

such certainty of ambition so soon,

perhaps I could have focused.

 

The crows know a secret

that the wind shares.

To follow one’s true nature,

if you can filter that out from the deafening noise.

 

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