#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...