Mice and men...

The best laid schemes of mice and men

so often turn to grey,
and leave us nought but grief and pain,
instead of promised joy!

We're fellow mortals, mice and men... We live in hollow house, we live in trivial den;
homes built of moss and leaves,
and tar and bricks.
We all fight, to survive.
We're drawn to those of our own,
our type and kind,
to light a home,
to call our family, to call companions, mates...

We all feel the weight of life, and we carry it on our shoulders.
So often we feel the fever and rush of it,
that exhilaration,
some like to call it the breath of life... Other's call the same thing strife...
but we have more in common with mice, us men
we both feel anxiety,
see, the mouse feels much... although the man feels others,
the mouse feels such,
such as being eaten...
Yes... the mouse feels much

But time is our greatest similarity.
A chasm that taunts us with it's transparency,
it's consumption,
the true depths of it's polarity...

It calls us from an abyss,
Often a gift, many instances, a curse.

Time is what we cannot control,
and often-times
time skips parole.
what we cannot change, it manages to break our most
thought upon goals... and alas,
we glimpse grey when we searched for gold

So the best laid schemes of mice and mortal men
Often turn to grey...
But think not upon tomorrow,
for now it is today,
and what happened has happened,
you cannot change yesterday,
whether you are mice or man,
this day is still YOUR DAY