Remember(Poet's United Prompt)
I once knew a man who walked from town to town
His bindle stick as old as time
His boots as worn as his desert skin
People say he spoke little,
he only listened to the demon voice inside his head
Then on a cold clear night he lay tired beneath God's wanting eyes
Under a thin blanket, its edges frayed, the man as time slept past morning's light
They buried him in the black, rich ground;
his bindle stick made into a cross
his old brown boots marking the grave
In huddled prayer, The Preacher of Dusty Roads remembered an ancient verse: Home at Last

SC: This isn't a memory of any one person I know. But is a composite of those homeless in the world who are governed by their mental illness. The poem is dedicated to them