Just look into his hollow, listless eyes:
And recognise the shadow of a man
Whose soul feels death by inches. Realise
A man was made to work. And when he can
He’ll rise above himself. But when jobless
His very soul to pieces falls apart.
Not all at once: but slow. This man, hapless,
Tries hard – at first – his career to restart.
With every curt rejection, interview
Gone nowhere: see his hopelessness increase.
He first tries hard. But as the lucky few
Get jobs – and he does not – at last he’ll cease
And slip into a silent, brooding grave
Of grim despair close binding him in chains
More real than fettered steel. So what can save
Man from himself when naught of hope remains?
Only a miracle – which man can’t weave –
Can grant the jobless man a last reprieve.