Intelligent Mice

I think time took a break
and I'm awake,
maybe every one figured it out,
the sky fell and the oceans are fake.

I think the sun got jealous,
of his brothers and sisters,
so he swallowed a few,
now, he's our warmth,
our days face,
the one we've always new.

I think the wind is word,
one of touch,
a cold lesson silenced by coats,
a warm complement unnoticed by most.

I think we've already died
and came back to life,
as painted portraits of our sub-conscience,
as intelligent mice.

I think we are an experiment
of strangers.
I think we are painters
endangered.

Maybe we are the painting of an other
or intelligent mice,
in the maze of endevour.