Archais Poem by David McLansky

That I so proud
And reared highborn
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 better man,
Proud, apart,
Unknown for what
He called his Art,
The fallen man
Hunched low at table;
The fallen 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.

So now I gnaw
My sour bread
And contemplate
This tattered thread;
I, so proud and brightly born,
Sink down in darkness,
Chilled, forlorn;
No mourner weeps,
My thread is torn.