THE LOST CHILD

In the windy storm of life

I kept wandering through its pages

With ambitious ambitions being my right

But as a nomad I was left so it is

Even he that claimed to child me 

felt I never carried his DNA

With their physique in high degree

I became bond to no anchor in array

With the sweet bitterness of void

I became a vagabond to thousand eyes

Beholding the fate in my veins that dies

With weak capillaries eaten in devoid

Now in the Pacific of decisions

I've swimmed with no ambition at heart

No picture ever became presentable

As father Solomon failed to shape the flesh

Where do I seek a revenge oh fallen hero?

When do I start it again oh man of might? 

What is now necessary oh well of potentials? 

My eyes grow dim but who will heal it from total amnesia?