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,
saying he's born to win, although he's born in sin,
yet mischievous! you can tell by the way he grin,
that's the path he choose,
you can he can see his consequences
of his bruises that is within as always his ways unfolds........
© king_lyonspoems