#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...
In the depths of the deep night,
He shall let out a breath
His hair carresed by the cold wind
And a candle that flickered his life,
There he stood between greens of old
Soil that mold, with snake skin he mirrors with white and pale beneath the cold, the world will open up
And eat thy flesh, you shall be in books, of the wonderer's quest.