Dropped in a desert, he lay there exhausted
for his charged murder sentenced his exile.
He looked into the distance and saw dunes
that stretched across the desert for miles.
He was graciously provided with an empty canteen
if he were to fortunately discover a pocket of water.
But finding water was as likely as him accepting the
death sentence that he was so foolishly offered.
Exile from the kingdom was the obvious choice,
while the death penalty seemed like a brutal waste.
For a chance of survival, a chance at another life,
would be his definite motivation for his desert chase.
Now, grains of sand are all that is left,
keeping him company in the fiery heat.
Rising up from the crystals of sand
beneath was in itself a marvelous feat.
Needing to carry on, he moved his feet.
One in front of the other, he traveled east,
trying to find an escape from this trap.
He knew little about this dry, hot beast.
The heat blurred and warped his vision
the longer he trudged through the desert.
He could feel the heat invading his body.
He wiped the sweat with his dirty shirt.
He forced himself to walk for miles
without any contact of water or end.
Needless to say, he had a lot of space
to think of his time on Earth he spent.
He replayed his crime over and over,
Every part, every word, every second.
He convinced himself that he was right,
even if he did use an illegal weapon.
Through the dust and dunes of the desert,
a godsend seemed to have appeared north.
Tall, green palm trees came into his sight.
With one foot in front, he quickly set forth.
He was halfway to his destination
when he collapsed of exhaustion.
He couldn't let his legs deprive him
of his newly found desert fortune.
He forced his body up with all his might.
Gaining his balance, he charged forward,
not giving up on his last hope of survival,
for if he failed, it would be wasted torture.
He arrived fifty yards away from his oasis,
limping hurriedly toward his destination.
But with a blink, his oasis was no more,
and he fell to the sand with devastation.
He lay flat on the sand, the sun hitting his face.
His skin was the color of dirt-clouded salmon.
His body had no energy to move, despite trying.
His faith and hope died due to fate's famine.
He lay flat on the sand, crystals trapped in sweat.
This is what it has come down to. This is his death.
He gave up moving forward; he accepted his fate.
He lay flat on the sand, exhaling his last breath.
In his final seconds, he questioned his judgment
of choosing exile over complete and final silence.
He realized that his hope and faith were his mirage,
his oasis, in which he gave his complete reliance.