theifs of the polished face
hoist its metal lies over the far fence
neatly escaping into the failing light of day
while the watchman fondles his superhero comic
and daydreams of saving the day
they load its shiny fair haired face
into the truck at the edge of some tangled wood
embark the dusty fate for the sun flees and we shall follow
see it fly to the worlds edge we shall fly too
for we must
we cast off the dead weight till
all but our very bones lay littered behind us
like a trail of turmoil's
and still the road leads on
still the sun flees
one by one we fall to the dust
one by one with hand upraised push the surviving onward
fall to silent dust
one by one fail
till there is naught but the two of us walking side by side
in the narrow stretch of dry bitter sunlight
bearing between us the copper face
its bright eyes fixated on the fleeing sun
its hour passing with hard thoughts
till there is only i
and this heavy weight
this polished face
this unbearable freedom