Crumbs

untrammelled fingertips
scratching
for crumbs of dignity

frenetically lurching for a morsel,
searching across a society
that’s failed

no fraction of compassion
to justify a place
for humanity

no sliver of transient sanity
to quell the delusions
of misplaced hope

clawing hands cannot wring,
and digging fingers
bear the filth of truth

praying hands sit idle,
and so they open
the workshop’s gate

not a whit of will to stay the frenzy
of maniacal mentation
and demented laments

only the frantic pursuit for a reason to live,
a cypher to crack with broken nails,
read in flowing red

art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński