Tongues and fingers light the
path, flickering this way and that,
casting hawkish shadows upon the
mosaic of dimly lit memories
Twisting language and shifting grips,
searching for the righteous words
and propitious angles, hoping the
past is forgotten, thus forgiven
Begging and bargaining to their
one of the many gods, to be
favoured above their brothers,
flattered above their sisters
Praying hands of preying minds,
a torch to illume singular devotion,
to blind the suspiciously sighted,
and to set ablaze invisible foes
They then wait; dazzled by a distorted
reality, a quirk of evolution; led astray
by their desperate desire, left
betrayed by their clutching pyre
art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński
