I’m writing to you of someone,
Born an average black guy;
At 6:00pm, nineteen fifty-five,
On the thirtieth of July.
His life was taxed with a defect,
That required love and perjury;
In the land of New Orleans,
Needing open heart surgery.
His parents were a set of folks,
Filling maid and butler spaces;
Employed by Famous Kennedys,
During early political races.
Replaced by the Secret Service.
Before an election fest;
For National Security,
And a soldier of fortune’s quest.
As a kid he learned this story,
In a Mississippi Catholic school,
St. Rose De Lima brought his best;
By befriending the Golden Rule.
In Bay St. Louis, his life began,
With the family’s Catering times;
English, Religion, History,
Science, math, and nursery rhymes.
Grammar school teachings were molds,
Lessons and morals would thrive;
Friendships and puppy love brings,
Color and makes growing up “live.”
Assassinations of great men,
Put patience and love to the test;
Those eight years were very crucial,
For a soldier of fortune’s quest
They brought forth his real talents,
Rewarding strength with cool;
To give him insight and honor,
And substance in life’s swimming pool.
Music took it’s control of him,
Poetry sustained his goal;
John F. Kennedy laid to rest,
By a gun from a twisted soul.
Pride and vision shocked this day,
Mourning the act and the loss;
Another soldier taken away,
But this one was the real boss.
Life went on and so did time,
Adolescence was aging’s guest;
Choices of life began to shape
To a soldier of fortune’s quest. |
Five years left of schooling time,
He recognized his vocation;
The Bay High Public School system,
Was the new four year location.
Meanwhile the political scene,
Became like a boxing ring;
Someone took it too far and shot,
Doctor Martin Luther King
Yes, forced bussing came into play,
Whether it was good or not;
Interracial dating came forth,
Robert Kennedy had been shot.
Back to the subject guy at hand,
Playing events,practicing and rest;
As a drummer his skills gave hope,
With a soldier of fortune’s quest
Funk and Soul opened all doors,
Rock ‘n’ Roll brought graduation;
He left Bay High and posse,
For a higher learning elation.
Pearl River Junior College,
Lasted one and a half years;
Twelve months later, his parents died,
He had to face his worst fears.
A new calling spoke to him,
The road said, “Boy, go travel ;
Follow your father’s advice,
Two great years in New Orleans,
Beware the Judge’s Gavel.”
But he must leave and go West ;
He prepared himself and started,
On a soldier of fortune’s quest.
Four months in Dallas flatland;
Two desert years in Albuquerque;
Denver’s mile-hi was two years,
Four years at home, for the turkey.
Six years in Los Angeles,
Eighteen in San Francisco prime;
His jobs were cooking or warehouse,
But temp work introduced grime.
Today he’s a homeless advocate,
Freeing homeless from scandal;
He wears black cushion headphones,
And a hole in the left sandal.
Yes, it’s me I wrote you about,
A Leo and his silver crest;
And my life still continues
As a soldier of fortune’s quest
- Willie Warren
Homeless Advocate |