the mouse
by psNever could burn as long as the other flames
Relating to the size of a seed
But growing at a slower speed
The mouse returns to what its hated
Resenting time dissipated
On small green leaves
Instead of whole trees
Like a mouse in flight
No sense in sight
White clouds overshadowed by black clouds
Minute by comparison
But equal use of feeling
Remaining short by diffusion
And there’s still no indication
Of future rain
To fuel a brain
A mouse that’s thirsty
Trying to find a muse in me
The sparrow’s throat is closed tight
By loss of inspiration
Now burns with indignation
In trying to mimic the marmoset
It’s finding it’s losing more blood than sweat
The mouse will begin to severely fret
And hide behind its parapet