I was always of the brand
that I was born of the castle (grand)
so unto her I felt the draw
not knowing the truth at all
but true my birth was but a flaw
a child floated down the nile same
abandoned willingly- this time,
left to bathe upon that river of chance
to be plucked up by whomever might
have fished out for a child that day-
of course I do not recall
the voyage, the arrival, anything but lore
but lore does not feed nor clothe, no
nor does a babe grow and understand the chore, so
here I am to reconcile my high born, aspirations
imaginations-
delusions-
illusions-
bedtime comfort wrapped comforts, so
how easily from a rampart look down
a tower’s stone, over the dawn
when all the while, with eye bent
just a hill or optical illusory meant
for I am no more than a pull
a push, an oxen rent-
to pull radishes with hands
soil to render under nails the black
no famed purple cloak can hide this fact
and there is no real difference then
between high tapestries and dirt linens spent.