Withered Plans

A chasm yawns where coins should be,

A desert vast, where wealth should flee.

I wander lost in barren lands,

With empty hands and withered plans.

Tired eyes, a heavy heart,

A constant ache, a painful start.

Each day a battle, a losing fight,

Against the shadows of endless night.

No golden dawn, no silver gleam,

Just endless cycles of a fading dream.

A prisoner of want, a debt-bound slave,

Yearning for freedom, a hopeful grave.