Neither Fore Or Neither Aft

I am a floundering poet
penning meteoric assemblages
of rhyme and of meter,
and free form works
spring from a loving muse,
lest none shall 'er unseat her.

Oh, woe is me,
that should not one see
me making my supper
of kidney bean,
as on bended knee
I scour for coins free
in shadowed sights
commonly unseen.

Is this a creationist's hobby
or a living dream,
as of compensation
I have rarely seen.
From these words flooding
that breach my thought,
a plug of jerky is surely
not to be bought.

Who I am is none too close
to the colorful spectrum
of gifted poets past.
Is it that I simply endure
a mode average to create
as merely of crowded cast,

... that I should continue sailing
this sea of dreams
on the passionate winds
filling the sails of my mast?

But alas, I am adrift in still waters,
On a vessel I be neither fore or neither aft,
Wet finger waiting on the winds of change
as I shall pack securely my life's new raft.

I musn't forget my
paddle,
pickled eggs,
paper
Or pen.

To Hades go the rudder and azimuth
as I shall not longer be fooled
by this old ship again.

I am cutting new waves,
into the unknown that I go
discovering fearlessly
atop the currents I flow.

Faith pure be my compass;
'tis love fueling my lantern's wick.