Not High Enough
By Myriad

So high above, yet far too sheltered still,
I sit and try to organize my thoughts.
They jump and wander madly where they will,
Or hang upon me with the summer sloth.
The breezes whisper by and cool my skin,
And, for a moment, pacify my mind.
But still the sluggish turmoil knots within,
And seldom do I inspiration find.
If only I could fly, leap from my perch
Away from all the binding cares of home,
And sail upon the wind above the Earth,
My trapp'd imagination free to roam.
But rise up I cannot above the tiles
Upon the roof, a wingless eagle's child.