Patterns

Oh, the night sets softly
 With the hush of falling leaves
 Casting shivering shadows
 On the houses through the trees
 And the light from a street lamp
 Paints a pattern on my wall
 Like the pieces of a puzzle
 Or a child's uneven scrawl
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 Up a narrow flight of stairs
 In a narrow little room
 As I lie upon my bed
 In the early evening gloom
 Impaled on my wall
 My eyes can dimly see
 The pattern of my life
 And the puzzle that is me
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 From the moment of my birth
 To the instant of my death
 There are patterns I must follow
 Just as I must breathe each breath
 Like a rat in a maze
 The path before me lies
 And the pattern never alters
 Until the rat dies
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 And the pattern still remains
 On the wall where darkness fell
 And it's fitting that it should
 For in darkness I must dwell
 Like the color of my skin
 Or the day that I grow old
 My life is made of patterns
 That can scarcely be controlled