A crown with stars n band of Asian brothers,
mane blown out in thinning curls.
A real son, hmm! Maybe; the poise,
Aries, war a game since birth.
Looking down as armies charge,
left to right, the red force,
right to left, the legend's men,
my place; with the greyed senator.
Three years of front-line march,
stretched webs near blurred eyes.
Not angry blows from foes,
but killer stabs of a lonely self.
The city port I sailed one night,
for fame, bylines and that mortal need:
Some justice to the pawn me,
born poor and a world to conquer.
Counted, measured a hard day's work,
next day trashed, the truth, the lies.
Morn comes a brand new fight,
battle for some no man's cause.
Chin up, sure for more,
looking down at this Colosseum.
Battered body - wine then Malaria;
scars aplenty but no one to nurse.