#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... Without a trace no more options to have
he feels as if his soul is on fire.

He's been walking all day, and he is not the same as before, so he can gone and retire.

He's done so much,carried the world on his shoulders, and is realizing that he is getting older.

With a song in in my heart, and money on my own mind.

I can be anything
© Kori E Martin