#WritcoPoemPrompt22
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...

Seeking solace in the barren land,
A nomad lost, with no guiding hand.
Beneath the scorching sun's relentless blaze,
His weary soul yearns for tranquil days.

The grains of time slip through his fingers,
As he wanders, burdened by memories that linger.
Each step leaves imprints upon the dune,
A testament to a journey strewn.

His lips, cracked like arid earth,
Long for the taste of water's rebirth.
A parched throat whispers silent pleas,
For a drop of life, a moment of ease.

In this desolate expanse, he finds his plight,
A battle within, a fight for his own light.
Is he the savior of his own salvation,
Or merely a victim of fate's cruel narration?

The desert wind whispers ancient lore,
Echoing tales of those who came before.
Their footsteps lost in sands of despair,
Their fate a warning, a solemn prayer.

Yet amidst the vastness, a flicker ignites,
A flame of hope that refuses to dim in the night.
Within him, a spark, a glimmer of grace,
A strength to rise above this desolate place.

He sheds the shackles of despair's embrace,
Embracing resilience, finding solace in grace.
For in the depths of his spirit, he discovers,
The power to transcend, to become his own lover.

He's both Messiah and vagabond, intertwined,
A testament to the human spirit's bind.
In the desert's embrace, he finds his worth,
A survivor, reborn on this sacred earth.
© Peta-Gay Powell