Beggar's Triumph Poem by elysabeth faslund

Cruelty. Be not proud. You have kinged nothing
I did not give you royalty for.
Scepter...Sepulchre.
Banal. Dawnward splices Sun, Moon
Bouquets...

And the beggar sleeps uneasily under
Newspapers...cruelty remembered swiftly
At heart's end. Heart's beginning.
The full Moon echoes shadows longer than
Yesterday. Lethal as tomorrow.
Tonight, the parkbench cocoons, soothes...

What madness, cruelty? Did you stroke your
Balding ego vainly, denying angles of Truth?
What pride lured you into yourself...a mirror
Monster fanged dripping.
What anger, what revenge?

And how screeching the laughter that buried
You under the
Beggar's
Bench...

Agnus Dei!