jerry

the silence grows between the walls
so every creak becomes consequential
a field mouse listens for their chance to run
j'aimerais pouvoir ressentir quelque chose de nouveau

the world feels larger in small eyes
there is comfort in knowing the walls have holes
each tile a mile, each turned corner a danger
the field mouse imagines ghosts of trapped souls

the field mouse does not conceive of heat
and scurries too close, then becomes burned
back to the hole with scavenged scraps
a morsel earned is a lesson learned

each day the field mouse desires more
wanting to taste what is leftover of life
but the peril is palpable, the soundtrack dramatic
a field mouse can wield neither words nor knife

once toured (the floor) to make assessments
the field mouse gathers up defense
so cold like metal, so sharp the blade
the double edged sword of acceptance

the field mouse bears a searing mark to remind
of times when forges still burned hot
no sword is made with only embers stoking
you can only temper strength with what you’ve got