my ink should rouse fame

and all that the creator gave i,
everything on land i totally possess;
not buisness,it all has capsized
and left me tumbling on earth floors
nor to taste even a drop of wealth,
but sure my eye has dropped drains
and barrels of depression my eyes has shed
in pain,and misfortune,and mishap i've had
but left hence with a genius pen,
a captain of it own craft,though under storm
and god sees thoe hard tears of turmoil,
to shed one also in grief for the agony
that saddles me upon the sword edges of fate
but in all this,lone stands my pen 
consolatory come it's ink like mothers milk;
if all the food wouldn't soothe,
it'll soothe at least
and if all left with is but writing
i must fullfill the cause of my creation