A heavy hand on my shoulder,
\"You will walk,\" a preacher prayed.
I chuckled, thinking himself a fool—
I wasn\'t lame, my legs were sound,
So I brushed off the sacred word.
The crusade ended, lights went dim.
I reached into my pocket space,
Looking for bus fare to get back home.
Nothing.
Empty.
Stolen clean.
And so, down the long dark road,
I walked.