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Stowaway
He craves respect of his own,
Through power and prestige ,
A stowaway on the run to the perfect gold city
Just trying his luck, journeying on the road of no return
He drops on the sandy folds,
Of a deathly bed,
A lost traveler of a mighty desert,
Parched throat, cracked skin,
He is his own Messiah,
Or another vagabond victim on death's payroll,
In the tunnel of total darkness seeing the light at the other end,
The future as bright as the prettiest diamond yet so far from reach,
If only the tables can turn,
And hopelessness turns to hope ,
The dreams of a dying man can really become a reality
© Olivia Nutifafa
#WritcoPoemPrompt22
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