Archias Poem by David McLansky

That I so proud
And reared high-born
Should live the object
Of such scorn;
That I so once
Of fine estate
Should eat stale bread
O'er spread with hate;
Beneath contempt,
Tongue-lashed
Derided,
Shoved and cursed,
Sneered at,
Chided;

That I should live
To know such fate
The better man,
Befouled, berate;
Mocked by fools
I can't escape;
Ignored, dismissed,
Condemned
By apes.

The bitter man,
Proud, apart,
Unknown for what
He called his Art;
The fallen man
Hunched low at table,
The failing man,
Rheumoid, disabled;
Elbowed out by eager youths,
Sustained by all my feeble truths;

Sad victim of iniquity,
Still clinging to
Frayed dignity,
Pressed against
This cold damp wall,
A life forgot
Though seen by all;
It makes me stop
And ruminate,
We rise and fall
At different rates:
Some fall early,
Some fall late;
So now I fall,
Ah, bitter date.

And so now I gnaw
My sour bread,
And contemplate
This tattered thread;
I, so proud and brightly born,
Sink down in darkness,
Chilled, forlorn,
My life is going,
Going, gone,
Sad mourner weep
That I was born.