Mortimer Sly

Sky scraping man, stone weather hands

Walking on highways made out of sand

Heavy in stepping, lilting in tow

Decisive in battery of where next to go

Feeling so shy and wary of Mary

Such burdens of grit, such sorrows to carry

A man of scars forever is hurting

Determined to run but always returning

He lives to his name by getting away

And does himself shame by trying to pray

Falls to his knees to speak to the sky

Feels dry in the mouth and blind in the eyes

Storms in the air, clouds would be blessing

And nothing but thunder will come to his catching

Listless clapping, distant roars

A child's hands and nothing more

Motherless Mortimer, not much to lose

Picks up his pace as panic ensues

He runs from mirages, present or benign

With hope to leave, or transcend, or die

Mortimer Sly, such a threatening look

Stealing into sunset like such petty crooks

With knowledge of better, all but forgotten

Regrets of the former, near but down trodden

Mortimer Sly, flee from your others

Those you have hurt, those you smothered

Live through the holes on the soles of your shoes

And know that by now, you've none left to lose.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Keep running, Mortimer Sly.

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