Gods of Forged Control

There was a mouse on the rhythm of the sequestered atmosphere
He hid no secrets from his mother, this noble mouse
He sheltered under a pit of sand and poison packets he dodged under the house
This mouse, was so noble and perfect and wise, he forged his signature
On the contract of life
I know he lied
He could not really write
This mouse, he did everything right, but write
He could not
He would not learn
“I am a mouse,
I do not need to prove my soul
With the beginning of the testament
‘I was born’”
This mouse forged his own signature
He lied to his mother
He pretended to be his father among the other mice,
Hoping they would not notice
His age and rampant contentment
This mouse was a ghost of a god of forged control
He did not let go of the sorcery of truth-telling nightmares
Only in nightmares, did he welcome the platform
Of the other mice, under the house
Among the pits of sand,
Dodging packets of poison.