SOILDIER OF FORTUNE

SOILDIER OF FORTUNE

Book down both my idleness and memories

Come the 52nd summer, through ship to ship

The last sail from city to city, the begotten irony

To contempt remain unknown, hath my time being

 Hoaxed with a patent to bare my dream, my slug

Hit the deepest of my wish, with an arm to an

Armor, doth my gentle verse indulge volitionary, what

 Worth in me hath grown, neither my dream Extant

Thou art trouble me not thee seeming

Hast thou forsaken me? Thou Succeed one another

 In an unflagging quest for a word, to whom shall

I sell? Thy portray reckon nor not understanding

The captivity my dreams, to whom shall I cry

 My bootless fate?